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*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.


As of February 4th, it is — on the Chinese Astrological Calendar — the Year of the Horse.

Bucking_Horse_SketchFor some people that’s about as meaningful as saying, “It’s the Year of the My Little Pony.”

But on the Chinese calendar, I am a Dragon.  The Year of the Horse is my Time of Trial.  Which means for me it’s basically the Year of the Bucking Bronco.  And there are days when, no matter how tight I grip my knees to its flanks, I am a hairsbreadth away from being tossed off on this wild mustang ride.

I am not overly fond of astrology, but just like mythological systems of any kind, astrological calendars — and predictions based thereon — make a certain kind of sense. People have long sought explanations for the events unfolding around them, and whether circumstances are viewed individually or collectively, naturally or supernaturally, in monthly fragments or yearly revolutions, one simple fact remains:  Life moves in cycles.

And sometimes in life, we get caught in a spin cycle.

And I am spinning.

There are events unfolding around me ~ events that impact me greatly ~ over which I have little or no influence.  Health issues.  Work issues.  Relationship issues.  Community issues.  Financial issues.  All completely unexpected.

I don’t like to get caught flat-footed.  I may not be the Queen of Preparedness, but I learned early on how to take care of myself, and that means I plan ahead.  I always have a back-up plan.  And a back-up plan for my back-up plan.


There are times when it’s impossible to see what’s coming, no matter how much you try to prepare.  And no matter how much you know or trust a person, they will still act in unpredictable ways.  In the past two months, I have been wounded grievously… emotionally.  And physically, I have experienced a barrage of unforeseen accidents.  It is like a macabre Series of Unfortunate Events uniquely tailored to my life.  A comedy of errors that is not funny.  Not at all.

In no particular order:  I scratched my cornea, fell down a flight of stairs, dealt with identity theft, had a job contract altered against my will…  My car broke down.  My husband’s was broken into.  My immediate community was victim to financial fraud.  My greater community was impacted by a disaster.  The list goes on.  Personal, physical, communal, familial…  I have been faced almost daily with new challenges to overcome; many of which require the *costly* resolution of problems — problems that were not caused by me.

And as a result of these first tumultuous two months of this wild horse ride, I find myself caught between two very distinctive aspects of self.  In the form of lyrical conversation, these States of Being would converse as follows (not exactly angel and devil, but it amuses me to picture these two sitting on opposite shoulders, exchanging philosophies):

Bobby D:  The answers, my friend, are blowin’ in the wind…
Chris Cornell:  …but I am not your blowin’ wind; I am the lightning.

I am, generally speaking, equal parts Laid Back and In Control.  A colleague of mine once described me as ‘flowy’.  Then she squinched her eyebrows and added, “You don’t go with the flow.  You are the flow.”

While I don’t entirely agree with that assessment, I understood what she was trying to say. To quote an obscure author:

Make your decisions like a Rock and live your life like a flow of Water.

~ Arlin Sailesh Kapadia

I think of a ‘flow of water’ like a river ~ constantly moving forward under its own momentum ~ as opposed to an ocean, which moves back and forth (ebb and flow) and is controlled by an outside magnetism.  So when I apply that interpretation to the quote above, I think of ‘rock’ and ‘water’ and Rock and River.  And In my own terms, I am — perhaps too uniformly — both Rock and River.  Rock and River = Earth and Water.  Which, going back to astrological implications, actually makes a lot of sense.  On the Chinese calendar, the Dragon is an earth sign; on the western zodiac calendar, I am a Pisces (water).

Dragon = Earth:  logical, methodical, objective, practical, centered.
Pisces = Water:  adaptable, empathetic, intuitive, emotional, self-contained.

Earth and Water.  Rock and River.

two-sides-of-the-same-coinLike two sides of the same coin, these… thought processes(?)… belief systems(?)… behavior patterns(?)… are stamped into the copper of my being.  And when that coin spins, balanced precariously on its grooved edges and turning ’round and ’round in a blur…  It all sort of blends together.

But the coin can only keep spinning if it can stay on edge.  And only for a limited time.  And regardless of edges ~ and dangerous ledges ~ the world keeps turning, infinitely.

Spinning, turning.

Circles, cycles.

The Horse is a fire sign.  Fire.  At odds with both Earth and Water.  The former it consumes; the latter quenches it.

And therein lies the key.

So while this bronco bucks and kicks, I will do my damnedest to hold on.  I am under no illusion that I am a graceful rider; I am more straphanger than equestrian.  While its hooves tear up the Earth, I might get thrown off.  I may get trampled.  I’m pretty well bruised already, and I’m only 17% of the way through this stampede.  But the best thing to do when a horse bucks you off is to get back on again.  I’m too stubborn to do anything else.  So no matter how battered I become, I have faith that by the end of this year-long 8 second ride, I can ~ and will ~ lead this horse to Water.

And if not…

Putting astro-logic aside:  A friend of mine pointed out that, in addition to being a Dragon and a Pisces, I am also ~ in terms of animal spirit totems ~ a Bear.  “And I’m pretty positive,” he said, “a bear can take down a horse.  It’s a bit hard to catch… but it can be done.”

Yes.  It can be done.

And I will do it.

Horse sketch found at deviantart.com.
Coin photo credited to recreateyourlifetoday.blogspot.com.


for crimes I did not commit, I have
borne wounds for the

Iniquities of Others


and now you,
who dared make me believe in exceptions
have proven rule
and become
my executioner

walked through fires
for you only
to have you turn away at the sight of my burns

you’d like to believe the lie
that because I am strong
I do not cry

when the truth of the matter is

it’s because you are not
that I weep

According to Tony Randall

A valet parking attendant was reminded by his boss to pronounce Deborah Kerr’s name properly when he announced over the public address system that her car had arrived.

“Car.  Remember that her name rhymes with car.  It’s not Kerr as in fur.”

The attendant said it over and over again to himself and when the time came he announced it perfectly.

“Deborah Kerr, your car is ready.”

He sighed with relief.  When the next car drove up in front of the theater, he made the following announcement:

“Alfred Hitchcar, your cock is ready.”

~ excerpt from the book, Which Reminds Me

Not Eve’s Eden

And so it begins…

Did you use to be a gymnast?
Are you a dancer?


You must be really strong.


You’re nothing like a pear.
More like…

…An apple.



My silent smile suppresses the retort trying to trip off my tongue.

In the stillness, the seed of newly unearthed knowledge takes root;
the one who crafted that characterization craves
nothing more fruitful
take a bite
of temptation.


Readers sometimes ask me questions about my husband.  About his personality, his interests, how he got his nickname, how we got together, etc.  I feel like I write about him a lot, in that our interactions – sexual and non – make for regular blog fodder.  But I recognize that there is a difference between writing about him and writing *about* him.  And outside of our silly scenarios…  Honestly…  I’m not quite sure what to say.  Not that I can’t describe him, or that I’m incapable of telling our story, but it’s…  A balancing act.  We have real lives, and real identities, and when it comes to what I write here, I always have to consider, What can I say that won’t give too much away?  

Hmmm…  What can I say?

I can say quite a bit, as it turns out.

If you are interested, read on.

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Highway run into the Midnight Sun

Steve Perry’s voice rings clear with the complication of simplistic honesty, and every time I listen to the four-note intro ~ D# – C# – E – D# ~ the melody transposes in my mind to the key of Ain’t – That – The – Truth . . .

Wheels go round and round in my mind

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Loving a Music Man ain’t always what it’s Supposed To Be

(Ain’t that the truth.)

My hubby is a Music Man.

faithfully introLong before he and I stumbled upon one another, my husband stumbled into Steve Perry and company one fateful night in a bar in Buffalo, and struck up a conversation.  During which, he inadvertently managed to cock block the band boy{s} (they were all so young then) when a would-be groupie approached the musicians at the bar.

She had sashaying hips, a cigarette dangling from her lips, and was angling for a light.

And how, you are wondering, did Smotchy manage to cock block a rock star?

Heh.  By flicking open his zippo and holding it out for the “lady” in question, all the while chatting up Steve Perry as though the lead singer was just a Regular Guy.  He was completely oblivious to the dumbfounded daggers L’il Miss Thang was throwing at him from her eyes, let alone to the reaction of the band.

There was approximately a three-second delay between lighting her up (heh) and the inevitable . . .

. . . oh . . . (not to be confused with The Inevitable O)


I wasn’t there when it happened.  I was, in fact, in elementary school at the time, so odds are I was watching The Muppet Show that fateful evening.  (Yes, there is a significant age difference between us.)  However, I can picture this scenario with crystal clarity.  (And snort-laugh about it.)  Because that is my Smotch.

He’s like that, you see.  He just… does things… sometimes – often with the blind innocence of good intentions – that leave the people around him going, “Whaaa…?”


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We all need the clowns to make us SMILE

He makes me smile.

He is a funny one.  (And a punny one, which you already know if you’re a regular reader.) He can be reserved at times, but when he’s feeling comfortable in his own skin, he is the Life Of The Party.  And when I want to have a ‘party’…  Well, then he is the Life Of The Party.  :D

For example:

One afternoon last summer, I asked him, “How do you feel about honey?”
As drizzly sweet things go, honey is one of my personal favorites.  A little goes a long way:  in my tea…  over my toast…  on my Smotch…
I placed a towel under him and had him lay face-up on the bed, with instructions not to interfere with his hands (didn’t want to get goo everywhere).  So he wrapped his fists around the headboard slats (to avoid reaching for the top of my head), and I drizzled him in sticky goodness, then proceeded to lick all the honey off his body.  There was sort of an…..erm…..excess…..of drizzled sweetness around his nipples.  It took me a while to get it all off.  There was much licking and sucking involved.  And possibly a bit of nibbling. 
His cock was throbbing by the time I finished de-sticky-ing the upper half of his body.  And since his breathing was already a bit tremulous, he made the most delightful gasping noises when I tipped the honey bear and swirled its contents over the head of his cock.  I licked and sucked and stroked and tasted, and just to make sure I didn’t leave any residual stickiness behind, I finished off by giving his urethral opening a good tongue fucking.
And then his penis gave my vagina a good fucking, and there were cum-shots all around.  *;) winking

I’ve played with other foodstuffs (chocolate syrup, strawberries, whipped cream) in the past, with previous lovers, but covering my honey with honey is the tasty fun that I remember best.  Perhaps because it was the most recent?  Maybe…..  Though I’m sure there’s more to it than that.  Because it was simply something I wanted to do, and instead of analyzing it or questioning it or only wanting to do it because he’d seen it in porn (my ex was notorious for that last one), my husband just quietly accepted it for what it was (FUN!), and joyfully came along for the ride.  (Puns intended.)

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I shared that story with a good friend (verbatim – that was taken from an email exchange) a while back, who responded . . .

“. . . love his reactions to you.  They always seem to have this cautious “oh dear what am I getting into now?” sort of feel to them.  I admit I have this potent mental image of you going about your day, being suddenly struck with a desire, and stalking and pouncing on your prey with gleeful abandon.”

faithfullyAnd my husband does get pounced on by me.  Gleefully.

But also . . .

Metaphorically speaking…  My ‘pouncing’ can be more Offensive Tackle than Playful Push. Over the course of our relationship I have presented him with various ideas, expectations, desires, and demands that have knocked him for a loop.

I am not easy on him.  Because I love him too much to be easy.  I consistently confront him with hard truths. Occasionally those truths are things that he’d prefer to run from.  And frankly, many others would run.  And have run.  And are still running, even as I type this.

But not him.

He hasn’t run.

Not Yet.

And ever the pragmatic optimist, I hold out hope for Not Ever.

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I get the Joy of Rediscovering You

I am constantly learning ~ and re-learning ~ him.

He has been the constant in my life for 11 years, and in that time I have seen him struggle, triumph, grow, and change.  He is an incredible friend, a compassionate lover, a creative soul, a die-hard dreamer, a beautiful mess.

Oh girl, you stand by me

He makes me laugh…  And he drives me batshit insane.

He is who he is and I don’t ever want him to be anyone else.

Sometimes I want to wring his neck.

Other times I want to wring every last drop of cum from his cock.  ;)

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I know at times he worries about keeping up, about being enough.  But I need only for him to be Who He Is.  So that we can be Who We Are.

And we are imperfect.  We struggle, with ourselves and with one another.  We face our challenges just like everyone else.  But through it all, even with the curveballs our life together has thrown at him, he hits it out of the park when he says . . .

I’m forever Yours