I had my first kiss in the back seat of my 1995 Honda Accord. Well, first gay kiss that is. I had my first straight kiss in a middle school hallway as my peers chanted obnoxious motivations and a slightly racist couple name. My first gay kiss had no audience. We were parked on a back road in the Leita Thompson Memorial Park in Roswell, Georgia. At 16, I remember us, both incredibly nervous, passing awkward filler jokes back and forth until one of us dared to make a move. Desperate to confirm that there was no one around us, I repeatedly looked through each window of my rusted silver sedan. My eyes flinched at the slightest movement. My heart dropped at the sound of a squirrel’s scurry. And at last, when I finally believed we were completely alone, I gently leaned in, and lost myself in the magic of our embrace and the stillness of the air around us.