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.

Rambling. Because.

There is much to be said for hospitals.  Like, “What’s that terrible smell?” -and- “You’re gonna put what in my WHAT?!?”

And there is even more to be said for hospital waiting rooms.  Like, “Excuse me ma’am, but why is your screaming child not wearing a muzzle?  And has he had his rabies shots?”

I am a great admirer of medical professionals, don’t get me wrong.  I just prefer to admire them from afar.  From very far afar.

However, my husband likes to get up close and personal with the White Coats and the Scrubs on a fairly regular basis.  (Just between you and me, I think the whole female-nurse-snapping-on-gloves thing just does it for him.  I married a  man with a medical fetish.  Figures.)  So today’s blog entry – which is being typed at a speed of 12 words per minute on my hideous new phone, because touchscreens SUCK, and not in that awesome “Oh God baby YES don’t stop don’t stop!” kind of way – is brought to you by the letter F, for FUCK do I hate hospitals(!), and by the number 57.  Because that’s how many mistakes I’ve made so far in this… well, whatever this is.  This literary masterpiece.

Oh, and I am blogging from a hospital, in case that wasn’t obvious.

Because in addition to his mad crush on Nurse Ratchet, my husband has decided to give breath play a go and is having a tube shoved down his throat this afternoon.  Which means he needs a designated driver when he’s finished.

Madame la Feve:  Designated Driver Extraordinaire

Just don’t ask me how we get home from here.  Because I have NO.  IDEA.

I also have no idea why my screen will highlight words at random and then not allow me to bold them.  Hmmm…  The tecknologees.  They doth suck.

You know, I had a point when I started writing.  I just have zero recollection at this point of what that might have been.

When I remember, I’ll be back.

Meanwhile, I am in the process of a major move.  So I may be scarce for awhile.  But I will be checking in as regularly as possible and should be back to posting on a normal basis (for whatever that’s worth) by Christmas.  Til then, may your season be merry and bright.

And to all, a good night!  🎅



Tonight I am hot skin and fevered half-dreams, ragged breaths and raw lust. My heart beats in counter-rhythm to the rain that pounds against my windowpane, the taps against the glass hammering home the transparent divisions between us.

Distance and damnation.

Memories of things to come.

My nipples are on fire for the quenching cool of your mouth and the heat pools in my womb, exacerbating the throb between my thighs.

I ache for you.

I can feel my heartbeat vibrating under every inch of my skin.


Stroking my fingers over the creamy folds of my pussy, I feel my heartbeat, gentle and strong against the sensitive tissues of my warm wet walls and I think to myself…

I’d rather feel yours.


Tilt your hips, baby.





Sup from my lips while you feed me your cock.

Bear my weight and bury yourself – alive – inside my heat.

Warm yourself by my fire, love.

It’s time to come in out of the cold.



My pussy is slick and tight and dripping with need.

For you.

Can’t you see?

Don’t you want to feel?

Feel my flushed folds envelop your flesh even as they fight. Feel my swollen pouty lips kiss your tip. Feel my heartbeat pulse against yours.


Feel how hot? How wet?

For you.

I’ve been waiting so long.

You have no idea how badly I want you.

I can see in it in your eyes, feel it in the throb of your cock…

Yes. Yesssss… You want me too.

Yes you do, don’t you?

We can have what we want, baby.

But first…

First, you have to push.

A Unique Angle (on love and elbows)

“You,” he drawls soft and low into my ear as we are spooned together, his hot hard cock resting against the small of my back, “have…”

“Mmmm…?”  I ask as he trails off, my thoughts adrift in my cuddle-zen space.

He caresses my arm, stopping midway to brush his fingertips against the bend, and leans in closer.

I turn my head and grin at the expression I see over my shoulder.  Impish faux innocence stares back at me with twinkling eyes.

“You have,” he repeats, still stroking the bend in my arm, “beautiful elbows.”

I dislodge his hold with my full-body belly laugh at this announcement and when I turn my body to face him he pulls me in to him.

“Elbows?!”  I am laughing so hard, tears spring from my eyes.  “I have beautiful elbows?!”

“Yes.”  He nods sagely, trying for a somber declaration, but the quiet rumble of his silent laugh vibrating against my chest gives him away.

“You say the darnedest things.”


The humor is still there in his eyes, but along with it now is heat, and his voice is serious, sincere.

“Mmm…?”  I blink up at him with a soft smile.  “Well…?”

“Every inch of you is beautiful to me,” he replies.

His voice is playful but his face is serious.  My whole body smiles when he talks to me this way.

“My elbows…”  My lips quirk at the notion.  “Well, that’s…”


“Yes,” I agree.  “Definitely unique.”

“Every inch of you is beautiful to me,” he repeats, “and I never want you to forget that you are uniquely loved.”

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I am grateful for a great many things this Thanksgiving day.
Chief among them is the knowledge that I am, indeed, uniquely loved.

If I have one wish for each of you today, it is that you know that kind of joy for yourselves.

Happy Thanksgiving to all of you (American or otherwise), from all of Me.