I was naked the night of my first kiss.

My crush and I were skinny-dipping in his neighbor’s pool. When his neighbor heard us, we booked it back to his parents' house. We made it to the middle of the backyard before our laughter stopped us from going any farther.

Naked and laughing, we collapsed in the grass. When we could breathe again, he leaned over and kissed me. I felt like I was in a movie (not the kind my life usually resembles).

In an instant, it was over. He grabbed his clothes and threw me mine. Laughing again, we ran inside his parent’s house.

Afterwards, I felt like I had been slamming Red Bull vodkas (it gives you wings) laced with Zoloft-flavored Ecstasy all night. I could not erase the stupid grin from my face. It was awesome.

Kissing used to be so much fun! Remember?

Luckily for you guys, I do—mainly because I’ve spent the past two weeks acting like a grade-school dance floor make-out queen. It’s reminded of just how fun a plain old high-school style FMO (ferocious make-out) sesh can be.

So let’s bring it back!

Qualification: I don’t know what type of kissing you were doing in high school. Your first time may have seemed less like a kiss and more like eating a sloppy joe. I’m not talking floppy tongues and bruised foreheads, people. (Yes, that eliminates any kiss with more then 5 participants at one time).

I’m talking marathon make-out sessions—meaning they are set to the tunes of Boyz II Men (yeah, I went there) and include both full-on tongue action and over-the-clothes groping/heavy petting.

My high school FMO partner-in-crime was my first real boyfriend/my sister’s junior prom date. At first, our relationship consisted mainly of listing the top five most imminent celebrity deaths, debating on who would win in a fight between a shark with bears for arms and a bear with sharks for arms (bear, obvi), and smoking behind our school’s dumpster.

Then we decided we were soul mates (Mrs. Caroline Stanley on my Trapper Keeper sort of way), and our No. 1 hobby became suffocating each other with our mouths. There were not enough Lip Smackers in the world for our inseparable lips.

You could write a Dr. Seuss novel about our tonsil hockey habits. (We were kissing all the time. We would not stop, even to dine!) Things got PG-13 (in the good way).

Sucking face never got boring! But when was the last time you did it? Now that we all know what we’re doing, the art of the marathon make-out session is lost.

I’m not suggesting that you time-travel-rape your significant other back to high school ALL the time, but it’s time for the occasional throwback. You’re not going to eat the same dinner every night, so why engage in the same foreplay?

Sometimes the only way to steal home is to slide back to first base.

Bored? Excited? Just need a kiss? Email me at caroline@sfreporter.com.