The Ooh, The La and the Oh No. (a.k.a. The Wherefores of Bad Making Out.)
I have parsed it out. There are four basic kinds of crappy people to make out with and here they are (these examples all refer to the male of the species, by the way, since my experience is more or less in that way limited; you understand.)

1. The Extreme Sportsman.
Keeps a waterbottle by the side of the bed/couch. Is really into Trying out New Things in this way that feels akin to, perhaps, bungee jumping. You have never in your life had any desire to bungee jump. Alternately, may cause your body to feel a bit like a jungle gym. Extreme Sportsman’s waterbottle is very likely one of those squirty-jobbies, and he takes frequent breaks to reach over and squeeze more H2O into his mouth, to “hydrate himself,” proclaiming with a hearty athletic enthusiasm, “This is fun!” You ready your hand for a possible high-five.

2. The Don Juan in His Own Mind.
Thinks of himself as having a technique. Is really, really into both this Technique and his own physique—and yours—but mostly his. Sizes up certain of your physical features a lot, saying things like, “Yes!” Seems to want to re-create movie scenes a lot. Gives you the distinct feeling you could lop off your head at any point and replace it with that of the girl down the street, Katie Couric or perhaps Condoleezza Rice and it would be the exact same experience for him. Lots of heavy breathing, lots of “Oh, yeah”s (reminding you of exactly of the Kool Aid man), little eye contact. Would be just as happy spending the evening with a mirror, perhaps even happier.

3. The DJ.
Has created a CD just for this experience. Gets up to change the music, adjust volume levels and/or album tracks frequently.

(A note on music: Good music can certainly enhance making out, but bad music can raze the experience down to the ground, and there’s such a fine line. One time my friend was kissing on this guy and the public radio station was on in the next room. There was an enthusiasm and a zest to their activities but suddenly, says my friend, they both realized that the new age show, “Music from the Hearts of Space” had come on and the tune playing was this synthesized thing with sitar and howling wolves. She says she busted out laughing and said, “I’m sorry. I feel like I should have on some Stevie Nicks dress and like, some feathers, instead of this tank top.”
And then there’s music that’s too obviously designed for making out. I was, err, engaged in this activity at this guy’s house shortly after noticing that he owned a record by Steely Dan and putting that on. Next thing I know, there’s one of those eight-minute funky 70s-porn percussion and wa-wa guitar things going. I, of course, felt like this soundtrack was urging me to say something like, “Oh, you must be the plumber. Well, isn't that funny. I was just about to step into the shower.”)

4. The Absentee.
After weeks of his clumsy, charmingly endearing hinting that his feelings for you are, err, more than chaste, you finally, finally kiss him. When you do, he says nothing. At all. You ask him if everything’s okay, if this is what he wants. “Yeah, sure, it’s fine,” he says, the way you imagine he responded to his mother when she asked him how his day at high school went. Fine.
Stellar.