I admit it. I’m all about kissing. I love to make out. Nothing lights the fire faster for me than a healthy, extensive make out session. And really, is there anything better than kissing someone you are in love with? Those people who kiss you and you feel the entire planet fall away underneath you. You feel like you have this live wire that goes from your mouth to that spot just below your chest and above your abdomen, and the second your lips touch hers she completes that circuit and POW!

Baby, you weren’t grounded.

Yeah.

I’m all about the kissing.

Not to kiss my own ass or anything, but I have been told by most of the women I’ve been fortunate enough to smooch that I’m pretty good at it. I assume there have been times where I didn’t have my game face on (so to speak) or had a few too many onions on my veggie burger for lunch. It’s bound to happen. But for the most part, kissing has been a mutually enjoyable experience, and I’ve been told so repeatedly. For those of you who are single, female, look like Angelina Jolie and doubt this factoid about The Occasionally Mighty One, I’m happy to test my theory at your convenience.

Regardless, I got to thinking that I’ve never experienced a bad kisser. Women talk about this all the time. I have been with women who were different kissers. What they were into was not what I was into, and we rarely seemed to get into sync. Maybe they liked puckery, goldfish kisses. Maybe they liked darting, slippery tongues without any lip action. Maybe they liked to go left, and I liked to go right. Whatever it was, we just couldn’t get it together. Doesn’t mean they were bad kissers. Just means they had a different style. Sometimes we were able to figure each other out. Sometimes we weren’t. No matter what, it pretty much spelled doom for a relationship.

Now, I’m sure there are bad kissers. I’ve heard horror stories. I think most of the bad kissers are probably men. You rarely hear men bitch about women trying to suck out their tonsils, and I don’t think men ever practiced kissing on pillows. Or teddy bears. Or with other girls at slumber parties. Mmmm…slumber parties. Sorry. I digress. If we do encounter an overly zealous lip sucker, most men just figure that it will eventually lead to sex, so they put up with it.

For women, it’s a deal breaker. If you can’t light the fire with your lips, you have almost no hope of adding any wood.

Although I have had no personal experiences with these smooch slaughterers, I hear these are the worst offenders:

The Zombie: The zombie just sorta sits there, dead and motionless. You’re lucky to get a pucker. It’s like kissing a mackerel. Only with less sex appeal.
The Remora: The remora is a little over zealous with the whole suction thing. He attaches onto your face and just sucks and sucks, leaving you feeling like you just made out with a Hoover.
The Anaconda: The anaconda is the stereotypical bad kisser, and probably most common among teenagers. The anaconda tries to swallow your head whole. He approaches kissing like he was performing dental surgery with his tongue. Open wide!
The Mastiff: I think everyone has experienced this to some extent. The mastiff is so slobbery he leaves your face looking like you just got freaky with Cujo. Or went down on a squid. Bring a bib.
The Vampire: The vampire either loves to bite or has really, really bad coordination. He is sharp and jerky and aggressive and generally leaves you with a bloody lip. Maybe even a severed tongue.
The Stevie: Stevie misses your mouth completely and ends up planting a wet one your left nostril.
The Mexican Buffet: I don’t think this one needs to be explained any further. Tic Tac?
The Pornstar: The pornstar is the guy who assumes that any reciprocal lean-in is an invitation to stick his hand down your pants. He is also the guy who tries to dry hump you on the dance floor.

I suppose a Mexican Mastiff Anaconda Pornstar is the worst kisser in the world, but thankfully, I haven’t had to deal with this situation. I suspect precious few people have as he isn’t likely to make out too often.

Now this list doesn’t imply that to be a good kisser you always employ the same style of smooching. Not at all. A smooch for all seasons is my take on things. Like a wide selection of flavors for my Chapstick, I appreciate variety in my macking.

I like the gentle kiss. Those exploratory first kisses that begin with your hands on her face as you lean in and get to know each other for the first time. I like the surprise kisses, the hard, fast stolen kiss in the alley behind the night club or in the hallway of the office. I love the dirty kisses. The bitten necks and the roaming hands and the aggressive tongue. I like the playful kisses, the bite on the lip and the lick on the ear and the kiss through the smile that you can’t seem to control anymore. I like the teasing kisses. The kisses that aren’t even really kisses, just the tiny instant of separation, the electric, almost intolerable moment or two above her, maybe a grazed bottom lip, the breath on a cheek, the light peck on a temple. I love, LOVE the hungry kisses, those sexy, passionate, animal bedroom kisses that consume you as much as you consume her.

But my favorite kiss is the uncontrollable kiss. The kiss that can happen anywhere, at anytime. The kiss created when you see your lover walking on the street or standing in the doorway or reading a book or brushing her hair. You see her and are overcome with this compulsion to walk over, to run over, to just grab her hand, turn her around and kiss her, kiss her hard, and the result is so overwhelming that it almost hurts to love someone so much.

That’s my favorite kind of kiss. And those are the best, best kissers.

Even if they had Mexican for lunch.