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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.

In Sickness

I drift in and out, evading the light, avoiding movement.  Prone.  Silent.  It is an exercise in stillness.  A meat cleaver has split my skull and I can feel the sharp edges deep in my scalp.  It hurts to move.  To breathe.  My brain is swollen, tight against the bone, and every inclination is agony.

Two Tylenol.  Four.  Drift.  Back to consciousness.  Six.  Eight.  Sleep…  I wish I could sleep.

My vision swims in a gray-green haze and I can barely manage a slit-eyed gaze.  When I can stand to open my eyes, I read.  Hiaasen, in bits and pieces, until he makes me laugh.  Hiaasen, you bastard.  Searing pain.  A thousand green gremlins are hammering nails into my head.  Fuck.  I’m being pummeled from the inside out.

I retreat behind my eyelids at the assault and focus on my breathing until the fierce pounding recedes to a dull throb, press a cold compress against my forehead, and try not to think.

I lay prone, silent.  Evading light, avoiding movement, like this I stay.

And like this he finds me.  Still, hushed.  Unable to move, barely able to respond.

Scarcely able to see, incapable of speaking coherently, like this he finds me.

He finds me and he tends to me.  With sure movements and gentle hands.  Soft voice and firm touch.  He administers his quiet mercies as he would a wounded animal, a recalcitrant child.  I know you’re hurting he says, though in actuality he hasn’t spoken a word.  The message is in the tips of his fingers.  I’ll take care of you is in his eyes as he unbuttons my shorts and pulls them down over my hips, undressing me like a doll.

He coaxes my medicine past my lips and drops a kiss on my dragon’s tail by way of goodnight, lingering briefly to inhale my scent before shushing his hand over my belly in a possessive stroke and turning out the light.

Like oil and water, or fire and gasoline, there are so many ways we get it wrong.  Every day.  The ties that bind can also gag, and we’re only human after all.  We get it wrong.

But this…

This, I think as he leaves me to find healing in sleep, This, we get right.

Marine Layer

I can’t sleep tonight.

The fog is so thick outside my window the street lights barely cut through it. It hangs heavy in the air, pressing further and further toward the ground until morning. There it stays, gathering weight as It awaits Dawn’s penetrating light, knowing her blade will dull itself in the effort to slice through.

There are days, now that autumn has arrived, that the sun cannot burn through the fullness of the fog until late afternoon. Soon it will stay, if not washed away by the rain, until evening.

These are the days of haze. A never-ending cycle of obscured reality punctuated by all-too-brief moments of clarity… Lambent streams never again to be found once lost again to the darkening dusk and sacrificed to the midnight mist.

But such transitory perspicuity is nature’s course. The shrouded air may not wish to uncloud, but I trust eventually it will. It must. I know better than to underestimate the power of a flaming star. The power of brightness, heat, and light.

You always did call me Sunshine.

Submit: TABOO

I thought this might interest some of you.


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MARGINS CALL is accepting submissions for its Anthology Volume:

Taboo Tales: Writing Off The Limits

We are seeking prose from writers in all communities and all walks of life.   All submissions must be first time unpublished works.

We also invite submissions of photography and artwork to be considered for the anthology’s front and back jacket covers.

Content of submissions should be for and about those identified with how Taboo created negative and/or positive experiences in their lives.

MARGINS CALL Volume Theme is Taboo.

“Stigma’s power lies in silence, the silence that persists when discussion and action should be taking place.  The silence one imposes on another for speaking up on a taboo subject, branding them with a label until they are rendered mute or preferably unheard.”

― M.B. Dallocchio

Fiction, non-fiction and creative non-fiction submissions should be a maximum of 5,000 words.  Only unpublished, first-time submissions will be accepted.  Paste your single-spaced submission into the body of your e-mail.  Attachments will only be accepted if you are submitting photography or artwork.  Only one submission per person permitted.  A photo or artwork is considered one submission.  Please include a 50-word bio.

Submissions for MARGINS CALL should be directed to 2tab00tales@gmail.com

All submissions will be acknowledged when received and everyone will be notified of the editor’s selections.

Contributors will receive a complimentary copy of the anthology upon publication.

Deadline for submissions is October 30, 2014.

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Special thanks to middleagebutch for the invitation and information.  If you have questions or need clarification, please contact her via her website.

Best of luck!