Those who can
Those who can do things like find the perfect shade of lipstick, unzip their partner’s pants, coax out their cocks, stroking them hard with feathery fingertips, sensuously apply thick layers of lipstic to the sensitive undersides of their cocks till they were quivering hard, then swirl more around and around the tip till it’s positively throbbing. Then they grip their partners cocks firmly at the base, rubbing their thumbs across the lipstick-slick underside till their partner is panting uncontrollably, bring their mouths within millimeters, part their lips in a perfect “oh,” use their hands to circle their partners cocks round and round like giant lipsticks till their partners begin to gasp, and then, at the last moment when their lips are coated that perfect shade of red and their partners cocks begin to spasm they squeeze their lips around their partner’s cocks and them into their mouths in one gulp, smoothing their lipsticked lips into perfect cupids bows as their partners buck and moan, rend the sheets in clenched fingers, and spurt and spurt and spurt hot come into their throats.

Those who can
And those who can open their partner’s summer dresses one by one beginning at the top, passionately kissing the flesh they reveal, slurping succulent berry nipples between their lips leaving them slippery wet and crinkled as dates, not to be abandoned, oh no, but to be revisited between unbuttonings by warm strong hands that continue to kneed and roll them as the lips go down, down, discovering no impeding hint of undergarment (and really no need on such idyllically warm summer days as these) as hands and lips labor to unveil and devour oystery/peachy lips and clitorises already simmered to tenderness in their own creamy broths and liqueurs, and as the last buttons part and strong hands sweep the last of the covering garments to reveal glorious, proud naked bodies with arms wide over their heads and legs wide under their partners lips they slurp and lick, nibble, and kiss their partner’s pussies, teasing them, taunting them, making them moan and sigh with 10,000 sensations for which there are no words, they reach around and under their partner’s asses, grip their thighs, and hold them close to their mouths so that tongues aren’t thrown from their goals, and as their partner’s passion mounts higher and higher they slip sometimes one, sometimes more fingers into slithery wet depths, pressing against folds, reaching in and up to caress plumply corrugated ridges inside or down to stretch against clamping inner rings and gently but firmly rock and stir till first rigor and then mewing relaxation arrive.

Those who can’t
And those who can’t? Well, they write comment spam instead.