If you’re new here, welcome! If you’re returning, welcome back!

Looking for my most recent posts?  Scroll down a bit. 

*This* is a sticky post. (Keep comments about the stickiness of *your* post to yourself, please.) It was the first post I wrote on this blog space and it’s a permanent fixture on my home page for two reasons: (1) It clearly outlines my rules (please read them if you haven’t already), and (2) It helps a very specific group of people find me.

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Of a new blog…


Because of my Exodus from the Blogland I formerly called home.  (A.F.F. anyone?  Beuller?  Beuller?  Anyone…?  Beuller…?  Feverpitch60 has left the building…)

So.  Genesis because of Exodus.

Perhaps you were thinking along the line of Leviticus?  Deuteronomy?  Numbers?

Think again.  ;-)

There will be no commandments, but there will indeed be RULES.  And while I can’t promise to stay on topic (sex, love, gardening, pet ownership…one thing leads to another, I’m afraid…and all topics eventually lead back to sex ~ it’s a hazard of being a certain age, I think), I can promise that there will be…erm…language…and photos (if I can figure out how to upload them) and occasional glimpses at my mind, body (yes, I’m an exhibitionist), and soul.  Oh!  And my funny bone.  :)

I’d like to say all are welcome.  But really, you should be over 18.  And you will have to adhere to the rules.

Oh dear, you are thinking, with all this talk of rules…  Is she a (gulp) Domme?

Yes!  (Insert evil laugh and whip-cracking noise here.)

Well, actually…

No.  Not really.  I mean…

Let’s save this discussion for another time, shall we?  ;)  The reason for the rules is more along the lines of preventative maintenance.  I learned the…hard way (heh)…on my previous blog that internet anonymity can sometimes bring out the worst in people.

So without further ado…


1.  I am a PERSON.  Not an OBJECT.  Treat me as such.  (Or you will not be welcome here.)

2.  While I’m usually pretty fun-loving and don’t take things too seriously, I am still a REAL PERSON with REAL FEELINGS.  Treat me as such.  (Or you will not be welcome here.)

3.  While I may talk about sex on this blog, that does not give you the right to treat me like a sex worker.  I am a WOMAN.  I am MARRIED to a REAL PERSON with REAL FEELINGS.  Respect us as such.  (Or you will not be welcome here.)

Also, don’t steal stuff. Creative Commons Attribution License applies. Read that, and this, before you borrow from me.

These rules apply to ALL interactions and exchanges, including but not limited to blog comments and other bitland conversations.  Anyone who feels they cannot follow these rules is free to leave at any time.  Deliberate ignorance of these rules will result in banishment from the Land of Fever.

Mrs. Fever has spoken.

So it has been written; so it shall be done.


by Vixen Incognola

This post is part of a guest series.  For more information, see here.



Click the pic to get to Vix. ;)


I am the writer of my story- My Life’s Story - and my choices in life often leave me in full editing mode.

I am constantly changing my mind, constantly changing my wants, but you know what?!  That is okay, because life is not set in stone; if we do not like it, we have full authority to change it.

And trust, that in my editing mode, I have changed a lot.

Jobs, Lawd… I have been all over the map with jobs:  retail, photography, emergency medicine, dispatching, engineering….

It wasn’t until my late 20s that I decided to actually start a career, and that was done more out of concern for my daughter than to please any part of myself.  While I am more grounded in routine than I would like to admit, it does present a comfort and “calm” my need for change in a lot of aspects of my life.  Work for example, I dislike the “cube” life, but I have embraced it.  It provides the financial support that I need for my daughter and the flexibility I need for her as well.  With that, it alleviates the need to change homes, enabling her to stay at the same school.  I want that for her.  As exciting as change is, new people and places… it presents a lot of issues for a child growing up (well it did for me), and I do not want that for her.

I am a fast learner and a great multi-tasker; things tend to easily bore me.

This is probably why monogamous relationships are so hard for me.

This is where change has a negative impact on my life.  I like change and I like it often and my guys usually don’t change as fast as I do, and if the guy can change with me… I love big and hard.  If I do let someone “in” it is hard for me to change that. There is not one past lover or mate that I have that would not take me back.  (I know that sounds SO cocky of me, but it is true.)  I do not change the way I see them; they may have tarnished portions of themselves in my eyes, but I look past all that, so for me it is hard to “change” the way I act towards them, to have them “removed” from my life.  My love does not change.  It may evolve, it may grow, it may not be as strong, but I have yet to find where it has ever died for someone or something.

Greatest example, Lopez.

I can’t “change” my life to one that Lopez doesn’t exist in.


I once told him that I feel like he and I are constantly growing yet our ankles are chained down so we haven’t really “moved”.

I need change.
I need it often.

For me, change is excitement, new beginnings, it’s exhilarating. I think it is referred to correctly as the “winds of change” because you cannot hold on to change.  For as good as it makes me feel, it soon becomes an everyday.  I immediately picture Leonardo DiCaprio leaning off the tip of the Titanic screaming, “I’m the King of the World!”

I get a similar feeling when it comes to shedding something old and embarking on something new.

Just as Socrates said, “Change is to focus all of your energy, not on fighting the old, but on building the new.”  That man was brilliant, maybe he could come in and do some cleanup for me behind my change.

I have been told I have a gypsy spirit many times in my life and have even been told I was a Romany Gypsy in a past life.  I take that to mean I am a very free-spirited person and embrace change.  A change of scenery, jobs, abodes… I do believe this.  I think the most of my change comes when I cannot control something.  I wig out in my own way, which usually ends up with me taking out my big red felt pen and marking up a chapter in my life, maybe cutting something out, divorce, moving (well I don’t do this anymore), may be changing my appearance, a new tattoo even.

With that said, there is a pretty significant amount of change that I do not have ANY control over.  The ones that are subtle, the ones you don’t notice until you look around and don’t recognize some things. It’s like a colleague came upon my story and did minor edits that I didn’t know about.  These edits can be opportunities that came about or new people that came into my life, or maybe they came as failures, things I didn’t succeed at, things that I wasn’t ready for.

Which kind of brings me to the whole concept of “people changing”, I do not believe people change.  I believe our core remains a constant throughout our lives.  Experiences guide us, making us react differently, maybe even make us see things differently, but we as people do not change. I believe our fears do not change, if we are afraid to act – that goes for acting on anything.

Then I think, do I ever really change?

Me?  Do I Change?

That is hard for me to answer.

While I think I have evolved, I don’t think I have changed.

I think I have changed the way I react, respond, interpret, digest…. To people, experiences, etc.  BUT I am still the same me.  The same vulnerable, giving, sex loving, caring, sucker for good music, dancing in the streets me.

The people that get to see and experience those levels of me… that has changed.

People have come and gone, their views/attitudes of me may have changed, things have changed around me and I acknowledge that has an effect on me, but I guess I see it as evolution.

Then again I guess evolution is a form of change itself.


by Dokurtybitz

Mike’s micropoetry is being published here as part of a guest series this week.


He calls himself a Gamer, a Geek, a Dad, and a Bi-Polar Mess... I call him Mike.  And he's a poet.  :)

He calls himself a Gamer, a Geek, a Dad, and a Bi-Polar Mess…
I call him Mike. :)


We change
And evolve
Who we are
And who the world
A fight to move past
The three year old
We used to be


Children of chaos,
We desire
Our orderly step-parent,
And all the promise
It offers,
Still we come face
To face,
A blind, idiot god
All that we’ve built
Or imagined to be so


by M.S.

This is the third in a series of guest posts I am hosting this week.  See here for details.



Meet M.S.


9 months is a long time to be searching for the ground beneath you.

I had moved; escaped really. I say escaped because I felt trapped and it seemed like divine providence that I made it out alive. I had been dating a woman. “I’m poly,” she would say. In reality it was more like she wanted to openly cheat*** and used that as an excuse, and I was too lost in my lust to know better. “I’m not really poly,” she says now.

The feelings of helplessness, of anger, of jealousy.

The crippling anxiety.

I was falling, alright. I had fallen into heavy, seductive, soporific lust with this woman. I thought it was love. But there was far too much flame and far too few embers.

At first I was falling into something, but after a while it was just falling. No ground beneath. The only point of reference was my dignity and self-respect rapidly flaking off, carried away with the wind. I had reached terminal velocity, and the friction from falling was ablating my sense of self. I knew, deep-down, that if I didn’t get out soon I may not be conscious much longer.

*FLOOMP* The parachute billows out above me and slows my descent.

I’m not falling anymore now.

I’m not flying either.

I’m not really sure what I’m doing. My skin has scaled over in places. My ears ring. My eyes are so dried out they’re compulsively tearing. It’s quiet. Solitary.

I pass out. I wake up. I sleep. Sometimes when the wind gusts the right way, or if I see something fly by, I briefly think that I’m falling again. Since a few months ago, the nightmares don’t come around as much anymore.

When you’re held aloft in the sky, you start to get a clearer idea of where you begin and end. When your corpus hurtles through the atmosphere, the friction really carves away the superficial parts of you, leaving behind the misshapen core.

Is this who I really am?

Slowly descending, you get a lot of time to really look at yourself. Study your form. See where the kinks are. The way your arm doesn’t move quite right. Those weird bumps on your back. The discoloration on your stomach. Are these flaws? Virtues? Scars? The closer you look, the more you feel like a stranger.

Who was that person I used to know?

There was a different version of me that I remember, before I fell out of… where was I?… wherever that was. I don’t remember if that person had a weird arm, or a bumpy back, or a discolored stomach. I do remember there being a sense of purpose. I remember being happy. I remember excitement. Idealism.

Drifting is still moving, I suppose. I’m moving through space and time. With a pretty consistent direction, even. But I’m not in control.

I still don’t know where ground is. I assume it’s below me, somewhere. Maybe ground doesn’t exist anymore, and I just drift until my ‘chute gives way and I fall again. I’ve grown stronger hanging on to this ‘chute, though. I’m not falling again. Not without a fight.

9 months is a long time to drift.


***For the polyamorous among you:

It may not be immediately apparent from this brief glimpse into my journey (if you are interested in more details of said journey, I encourage you to explore my blog), but my former partner was only nominally polyamorous. I am friends with a number of polyamorous individuals who are able to make it work just fine; there is mutual respect and work by all parties. I understand that the conflation of “cheating” and “polyamory” are often a hot button issue, and I assure you that I understand for a healthy polyamorous couple, these are two very different things. We were not a healthy couple.

Flying is throwing yourself at the ground and missing.

by Kanienke (Ganien)

This is the second post in a guest series titled Falling or Flying.  See here for more info.


Meet my good friend Ganien. (He's beary thoughtful.)

Meet my good friend Ganien.
He’s beary good to me. :)


I’m a little bit scared of heights so falling and flying are equally uncomfortable activities for me.

Falling is awkward, and it is a lot worse than flying; it implies a certain lack of preparedness on your part. I don’t like being unprepared. So when I imagine falling, it begins with a misstep and ends with me plunging uncontrollably downwards, accelerating and suddenly realizing I forgot to put on pants that day. Then I sort of wonder what kind of corpse they will find at the bottom, like, “What a mess this is… but wait, was this guy not wearing pants?”

Flying on the other hand, is something you do with intentionality, it doesn’t just happen because you fortuitously happened to pack your wings that day. It happens partly because you took a great leap, but also partly because you knew ahead of time that you were capable of generating just the right amount of lift.

Most of the time I forget that I can fly. The realization only comes to me when the monsters are chasing me, and for some reason my legs aren’t moving fast enough, and it is a huge effort all of a sudden to move, like I’m running through water. And suddenly I remember that I can sort of leap upwards and by really getting a lot of air under my arms and pushing very hard, I can scoot up into the air a little bit. Even then, flying takes a whole lot of effort and I am only barely able to keep above the reach of the monsters. I really don’t ever SOAR like the other flying creatures do. They make it look so easy. It could be that they aren’t always forgetting that they can fly and so they’re better at it.

One day though, I was sitting by myself in a nice green forest where there were not any monsters at all, and I wasn’t even thinking about flying. I was just thinking how calm the world had become, and I was acutely aware of the chirping of the birds and the buzzing of the insects around me, and I realized that whenever I became very relaxed and centered in the core of my being, and especially when I recalled a happy memory, I floated effortlessly up into the air. The more I filled my heart with peace and loving kindness, the higher I soared above the trees.

And then I woke up and had to shower and get to work on time, which pretty much killed my whole hippie flying mood. But my dream made me realize that there are easier ways to fly.

When I was young, my family moved a lot. More than a dozen times I had to leave old friends behind and make new friends each time. Gradually I started to look forward to moving-time because my new friends always managed to figure out my bad qualities and would rub my nose in it. After only a few moves I realized I was faced with an amazing opportunity: all these new people had no idea who I really was. I could be anyone I wanted! It was a very liberating feeling.

So every time we moved I made a list of all the qualities that annoyed my friends, and I would pick the worst one and pretend that I wasn’t that. And a funny thing happened each time: I actually changed inside. I left those bad qualities behind. Every single move, I made an intentional leap into a slightly better personality. I was learning to fly.

It wasn’t as easy as I make it sound though; it took a lot of effort to keep myself from falling. Falling meant regressing back into my old habits, falling victim to those monsters that always seemed to be one little slip away. The only way to succeed at change, I learned, was to put myself into my old friends’ point of view and look at my behavior and really feel the pain or alienation I had caused them. Monsters became the embodiment of all the things I wish I hadn’t done.

One of my favorite songs is “Bull in a China Shop” by the Barenaked Ladies:

It is a cleverly written song about how much damage the writer insensitively causes. I often feel like that bull in a china shop, acting before I have time to think and saying and doing stupid stuff.

Here are two feelings from the song that resonate for me in this context:

I’m a tired old metaphor for everything you can’t afford to be
I’m a walking advertisement for everything I never meant to be

I’m not too proud to admit that I’ve done my share of falling over the years. Sometimes I have ditched the idea of being noble so that I could get what I want and need. But sometimes what people thought was me falling, was really me learning to fly. Sometimes I have refused to compromise when I felt like the underlying principle was integral to who I really am. I am okay with that.

I have lived in the same place now for 19 years. I haven’t been able to easily make dramatic changes in my life like I used to. Some of my friends have known me for decades and they know my monsters quite well. My wife knows me very well also. And it makes it hard for me to change especially when they all keep reminding me who I am. But I am still changing; and they are still clinging to the person I *was*.

Sometimes I resent that falling sensation I get, when someone I love gets too far behind me. They pull me down to the ground when I want to soar. My instinct is to just purge my life of those people. They don’t know me anymore.

It is so much easier to be who I want to be, when I am with new people who are just learning about me. They are much more likely to accept me and my quirks, and lift me up.

I am never sure how to reconcile my new friends with my old ones. They don’t even know the same person.

But I am resolved to remember my effortless-flying dream, and to apply peacefulness to my life so that I can begin to soar. I will keep my mind wide open for everyone I meet. I will be full of hope, possibility and trust. I will live my life with more gratefulness. I will be filled with burning curiosity about other people.

When I do these things well, I can feel myself being liberated from gravity, and floating effortlessly up into the air.

How I Deal With Change

by Jayne Ayres

This is the first in a new series of guest posts. For more information, click here.



Jayne’s Diary Incarnate


How I deal with change of my own was difficult. I can talk about it as if I understand it but I think it doesn’t matter what I say or think. Change just IS, irregardless of me. I have found my own personal change to be static and relentless in it’s need but I feel it’s a mental mercurial process.

I am like a rock tumbler, changing within continuously as if it’s a current that I am not controlling. My mind is always going like music in the background. It doesn’t stop unless I am rigid in repetitive actions of responsibility and purpose, but that’s only because I can’t think about it at those times. If most of my life is aligned, I have a light juggling going on within myself at a comforting speed. When there are major components needing attention, shifting, adjusting and or possible removal, then my engine is running hot to accommodate and adjust mentally. That is the time I write or speak or act flippantly. The majority of myself is attending change and I only have a few brain cells to run other systems because I want to get that change done – handled. I become distant from friends and I know for sure that I have some casual friends who think of me as flighty because I’ve been in this state for a while now. The fact is, I don’t share the real thoughts of life’s changes stirring within until they’re almost over or until the route has been figured out and I can let up on processing. You who may read my thoughts are the ones who catch me in that changing light. I have this image of me as some substance and life is grinding me against a spinning stone. I spark and pieces fly up as I change shape. I have no understanding of why I cling to the thoughts of what needs to change but I do.

I first get a sense of something that needs change because it is in my mind’s peripheral view …kind of like a zombie. Sometimes, they go away or fade into the background but the change I must always tackle is the one that is like a zombie – relentless until handled. I think that the need to change is to be tested and questioned for sure so the change is made clearly and accurately. Change to me is choice in what I believe but the part that is relentless is the truth of the change. The truth of what the cost is if I don’t change. I may be talking from the deep end because I’ve been in a state of change for years now ending my marriage of 23 years. I MIGHT be a bit on the serious side but I had to be serious because the only other option was to accept what I could never accept – someone I couldn’t relate to.

Change comes and stands around me until I notice it’s there and I have to make room for it. Usually I have to throw things out and that’s where I resist but, after examining it and questioning myself to determine its true message, I know what direction to take. If it’s a big change, I try to resist but the truth under my stubborn reaction is that if I don’t act upon it, I am negating what I’m feeling on a deeper level. What use am I to myself if I ignore it. I think that ignoring the markers for course correction is a sure way to jack myself up really bad and that I try to avoid.

I have caught a wonderfully smooth feeling when I simply let it be and not thought about what was lost but rather, I quickly accepted the change without question. It was very, very nice. I need practice though.

Falling or Flying



Each guest entry will photo-identify the author, and clicking the pic will take you to their blog’s home page.

Hello Dear Readers,

As some of you know, I have, in the past, provided a prompt and invited guest authors to write here on Temperature’s Rising.  I’ve found it a great way for my audience to get to know new authors, and vice versa.  This week you will be seeing a series of guest posts on this blog, written by friends – old and new.  The prompt this time…

Well, I guess the best thing to do is just let you figure out the prompt – or the gist of it, anyway – by reading the invitation I sent to the participants:




I have been thinking a lot lately… about change.  Causes, effects.  Reasons, results.  The impacts – positive and negative – on self, others, relationships.  The steps forward, one at a time.  The leaps backward.  Losing faith.  Gaining ground.  Moving ahead, little by little, until the precipice presents itself, stark and clear and jagged, dropping into the unknown.

We are all there.  Each one of us, in our own way.  We walk to the edge of our plateaus and traverse the escarpment.  And it is *there* that we feel everything that came before, nervously anticipating what comes next.  In our breathless abandon, we become.  (Life, said Myrna Loy, is not a having and a getting, but a being and becoming.)  Standing in the present, we become.  The before and the after.  The open sky and the craggy descent.  Part of all, apart from all.  Do we stand?  Undecided, waiting and wondering?  Do we stay on the brink?  Or do we leap?

It is the threshold.  The fringe.  A starting point and a point of departure.  Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.

I think of Learning To Fly – Ice is forming on the tips of my wings / Unheeded warnings, I thought I thought of everything – and the difference between price and cost.   What we pay – willingly – for what we want.   What we lose in the process.

And we are all there.  Change – an experience as individual as it is universal – unites us.

Transitions.  Revolutions.  Modifications.  Adjustments.  We grow and stretch and when we become too big for the space we are in, we break away.  Metamorphosis is what gives us wings.

Sometimes we feel the effects of change; the earth moves, shaking our feet free of their frozen stance.  Other times we affect change; the tiniest shift along our internal fault lines can throw us off balance.

And then, of course…  We can be change.  For richer or for poorer, for better or for worse.

Sometimes change means closing a book.  Other times we start a new chapter.  Always we are turning pages.

I wish I could be more articulate, but this… this concept… of being, becoming, morphing, changing… has been very much at the forefront of my existence lately, and I would like to host a series of guest posts on my blog about it.  I’ve debated how to go about phrasing the invitations, because in the past when I’ve had guest authors, I’ve given a topic/prompt that was a bit more… solid.  But the very nature of change is that it is nebulous.  So I don’t know how else to put it than to say:  If any of this resonates with you, would you be willing to write?

For those of you who are unfamiliar with the “rules” for such things:  Pretty much there are none.  (See here and here for previous examples.)  It’s an expression of self, in whatever form you see fit, on whatever topic you choose.  Personal or general, individual or communal…  Physical, spiritual, mental, emotional, sexual…  Life and Love and any or every part thereof.

This is an invitation.  I hope you will accept.

And because I love the song by the same title, and it fits so beautifully with with my own interpretations of this concept of change, I intend to title the series…




We got lost again
Drove to the end of a road
And a red-faced man
Taught us to do what we’re told

And on the 23rd night
Things ain’t bad but things ain’t right

Are we falling or flying?
Are we falling or flying?
Are we living or dying?

I guess we’ll never know

The air’s so heavy it could drown a butterfly if it flew too high

And I get the feeling that the truck driver ain’t shy
‘Cause he’s looking at me, but no wind in my eyes

And on the 35th morning
Things ain’t good but things ain’t boring

Are we falling or flying?
Are we falling or flying?
Are we living or dying?

I guess we’ll never know
Striking rock but hitting gold

Sometimes it’s hard to tell if there’s a life behind a song
But I know tomorrow, today won’t feel so long

‘Cause on the 42nd night
The room was dark but the stage was bright

Are we falling or flying?
Are we falling or flying?
Are we living?
Are we dying?

‘Cause my friend, this too shall pass

So play every show like it’s your last



Much to my (surprised) delight, my invitation was accepted.

So I will be playing host this week.  And I know you – yes YOU, dear reader – will make my guests feel welcome.

Each day this week you will see a new post, by a different author each day, on the subject of change.

Likes, comments, blog exploration, smiles, support, and general participation are encouraged and appreciated.  And if something you read inspires you to write a post of your own, all the better.  Link-backs are welcome.

Thank you all, as always, for being such an awesome bloggy audience.




I get crazy pussy in the morning.


You should be.

Not everyone can be a pussy magnet.


The purr…  The stalk across the pillows…  The pounce…

And then, of course, the landing.  There’s nothing quite like it.


Pussy knows better than to sit on mommy’s face. Although he *doesn’t* know better than to lick mommy’s nipples. (Don’t. Ask.) Which is why I’ve started wearing body armor (read: tank tops) to bed.

The landing…  Well, it’s sort of like having a be-furred bowling ball land on your solar plexus.  A be-furred bowling ball with claws.  And ass-breath.

Not that there’s anything wrong with going after a little ass now and then.  For my cat though…  It’s not so much a hobby as it is a life’s pursuit.

I don’t blame him though.  If I could bend myself into those positions, I’d never leave the house.  And I’d have the strongest tongue in the universe.  ‘Cuz for damned sure I’d be licking my pussy.  All. The. Time.

Just…  Not this one:

King Catty Whompus

 Because, furballs.

Also, inter-species grooming.  So not my thing.

Tongue baths, however…

With a proper human, that could be negotiable.