I had a regular jack off/suck buddy from 8/9 years until 16.5 years. Lots of sex with lots of members of my own sex around my own age and many adults, too.
But my first long-time MAJOR love was a fatally romantic man 22 years older than me whom I met just before I turned 19. He was fucking stunning. Natural black curly hair that he kept combed as straight as possible down past his shoulders. Thick, black moustache. Bedroom eyes that made me melt. I really loved the guy and we stuck together solidly for more than two years until I realized I was just a replacement for his previous lover of 6 years who had broken his heart and moved to New York. Call me dumb, but he was a good mentor regarding being one's own person and gay during a time when the Stonewall riots had yet to happen. But after 3 years of being "accidentally" called "David" (the name of his previous lover) than by my own name . . . well, I began to feel sorry for the guy. And this sense of pity I felt for him changed my romantic love into the parternal love one has when caring for a family member who is terribly ill.
Of course, all of his friends who knew his previous lover insisted I looked like the previous lover's twin. And of course when we finally met neither the previous lover or I could see any resemblance between us.
Regardless, I owe that older man a great deal of thanks for helping me (corny, I know) "self-actualize" myself, learning to ignore the bitchiness that erupts in all people (not just gays) and to care for those less fortunate than me. But he also suffered from the worst broken heart I've ever witnessed. Call it depression or personality dependency -- what ever -- but he really carried a torch for his 6-year lover before me. And one day he left a bunch of notes, personal letters to friends, and instructions on what to do making certain that his long-time best friend, and not me, would find him dead. He took a gun and put in his mouth, but not before covering everything around him with sheets of plastic paint covers.
Despite the eventual tragedy -- yet another learning experience -- he was a major class act. Looking back at most of the three years we spent together is like trying to remember a lush, opium-induced romantic world that no longer exists. Did I mention he was stunningly handsome? Oy!