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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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GENESIS

Of a new blog…

Why?

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…

THE RULES

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.

Under The Covers: Care For Seconds?

A while back I posted about cover songs and the artists behind them (both the originals and the second-time-around-ers), and while I was lying awake in bed last night (I woke up at 2:39am and didn’t fall back asleep until after seven, thankyouverymuch), tangling with my sheets, I started thinking again about other kinds of covers.  So I spent my (awake-at-odd) hours shuffling through my mental playlist and determined that once I was out of my sleepy-but-unable-to-sleep fog and could create a cogent compilation, I would do so.

The difference between this list and the first one I posted – which will probably only matter to fans of music history and to musicians (I am both myself and I married one) – is that, rather than call these Covers “better” than the originals (yes, I did that previously; yes, I will argue why if you must know), I am simply putting them out there as being.  Not better, not worse.  On equal footing, just separate.

SO.

Without further ado…

Get ready to make like a record and groove, baby.

:)

Adele:  Make You Feel My Love
Originally written and recorded by Bob Dylan, 1997

Adele has a voice I can respect; it is her instrument, and one she plays well.  If there is one thing she has noticeably improved upon since her album 19, it is her tendency to over-emote.  Jennifer Nettles has this same tendency, and there are songs that work well for both artists because they use that technique.  There are also songs that don’t fit their vocal style well, because not everything is exaggerated emotion and operatic drama.

Adele tones down her supererogatory inflection in this song, however, opting for more subtle intonations and smoothly rounded (heh – see what I did there?) phrases.  It comes across beautifully.

If you are a fan of Adele, especially in this more mature style, she also covers The Cure’s Love Song and Brandi Carlile’s Hiding My Heart.  Click the links for a listen.

Hiding My Heart was written for Brandi Carlile by Tim Hanseroth, who – along with his brother, Phil – make up the other two permanent members of Brandi’s band.  They are often referred to as “The Twins” and their songwriting talents amaze me.  As do their vocals.

As anyone who has experienced being in or around a musical family can attest, there is something eerily pitch-perfect about familial voices finding one another in harmony.  The Twins have that.  And it’s that spot-on oneness that is the primary reason I like this next recording so well.

Phil & Tim Hanseroth (Brandi Carlile):  
Originally written and performed by Simon & Garfunkel, 1964

As the story goes, Paul Simon wrote this song in his bathroom…  With the lights off…

So he could hear better.

Mmmm… Kaaaay…

I would say, “Whatever floats your boat” but the idea of floating and bathrooms conjures all sorts of unpleasant smells images, does it not?

In unison now:  Eeeuuuuwww–!

I actually do ‘get’ the whole singing-in-the-bathroom phenomenon.  There’s a reason people sing in showers, though many don’t understand why the compulsion is stronger there.  The thing about bathrooms is that they tend to be filled with only hard surfaces (walls, floors, porcelain objects, wood or metal towel racks, etc), and that creates a natural feedback loop.  Acoustics in bathrooms are amazing.  And if you have vaulted ceilings in there, it just adds to the resonance.  The Barenaked Ladies (or rather, the founding duo) did a whole set titled The Bathroom Sessions.

‘Kaysooo…

Moving on.

Pat Benatar:  All Fired Up
Originally written by Kerryn Tolhurst for the Australian band Rattling Sabres, 1987

Pat Benatar got ahold of this song and made it her leading single off her 1988 album Wide Awake In Dreamland, which was a boon for songwriter Tolhurst, but by the time the original Sabres recording was released, the fuss was about the song was over.  As were the Sabres.

You might have picked up on the fact that I have a clue or two about vocals from my commentary on this post thus far.  (Or perhaps you weren’t paying attention…)  One thing I respect about Pat Benatar’s musicianship is that she took her choral training and her mezzo-soprano talent and pushed it in a direction nobody expected her to go.  Essentially she took a classical instrument (her voice) and rocked it.

And one thing I respect about Pat Benatar as a person is that she is not afraid to tackle tough subjects in the music she produces, even – especially – when it is not a popular thing to do.  She addresses the sad sick reality of child abuse in Hell Is For Children, and again on the Dreamland album in Suffer The Little Children.  It is not easy for a recording artist to win their way (recording contracts are a complex hydra with too many snarling heads to count), especially when it comes to their causes.  And perhaps most especially when that cause is something too many would prefer not to be confronted with.  That is changing – slowly (too fucking slowly) – and survivors of childhood abuse are helping the next generation come up less afraid.  But someone has to speak up in a way that matters, in a way that is heard, at a time when people are forced to listen.  And she did that.

*stepping down off soapbox*

Anywhoo…

This song is one of my favorites because it mixes Benatar’s rock roots with the more pop style she adopted later.  And the lyrics are fantastic in their simplicity.

We could all do with such a positive anthem.

I believe there comes a time
When everything just falls in line
We live and learn from our mistakes
The deepest cuts are healed by fate

The Dixie Cups:  Iko Iko
Originally written and recorded by James “Sugar Boy” Crawford, 1953

Someone sent me a 10-minute Grateful Dead version of this song the other day, and since today is Fat Tuesday, I figure I will end this post with a tip o’ the hat to Mardi Gras, and share the story of how this tune came to be.

James Crawford attended a Mardi Gras event in the early ’50s that featured a traditional face-off between two “tribes” (keep in mind that Seminole culture was once influential in Louisiana), and he wrote down the call-outs as he heard them.  (The phonetics are actually quite different, and there’s a little video explaining the etymology, here.)  Later he turned his parade notes into a song – unaware of their meaning – and recorded it under the title “Jock-a-Mo.”  Very few people know that though, and when the Dixie Cups recorded their version of the New Orleans staple in 1965, they didn’t know it either.  Hence, they took the writing credit.  Eventually the legalities were sorted out, and the song has been recorded by a myriad of performers over the decades, including Cyndi Lauper, Jimmy Fallon, and the aforementioned Grateful Dead.

But here, for your enjoyment, is the “original” 1960s cover, as performed by the Dixie Cups:

Happy Tuesday!

We’ll have to crawl under the covers together again soon.

:)

Imbolc

Crystal dew breaths, visible but not tangible, fade into ether while the sun snuggles into its gray cloud blanket, pushing back the inevitability of dawn’s awakening.

And my mind turns again the fertile-earth phrase:  It is over.

Beautifully.

Painfully.

Finished.

Unclean reality cast in the jagged-edged slice of voices, a cacophony atonal, cuts me.

I have no blood left to give.

Fitting, I think, this ceremonial feast, this half-winter cleansing; purification and presentation, rituals redundant in modern love, substantive nonetheless.

Verity.

My mother’s alto, soft foam shushing waves on a rocky shore, echoes against my cochlear shell. “He said, ‘I’m sorry’,” she imparts in stunned awe, too dumbfounded to consider vindication.

“I’m sorry…”

And we talk of all the rest, the ones who aren’t, who never will be, who can’t even begin to understand the concept of apology. We talk of straightline winds of change. Of damage rendered. Of rebuilding castles in the air, constructed of relationship collateral, on a foundation of detritus.

Crumbling.

I listen to the ticking-clock pacekeeper, marching in the background, and when the hour chimes, I am reminded. Time is circular, and it always comes around again to this:

Don’t lie to me.

A slide show of ugly truths, interspersed with aspirations and omissions, reels in light-flash scratched images behind my eyes, and it is there – there in the breaths and pauses, the tone and temperament, the interest (divided) and investment (lost) – that I see between the {pro}verb{i}al lines (unspoken).

Change springs anew in the mi{d}st of sorrow’s winter.

Tomorrow is Candlemas.

Our night has ended.

There is dark to banish.

Light your flame.

Ravenous

Your tongue, velvet soft against my glossy lips, smoothly sliding…

Yes.

…right…

there.

Creamy sweet, spicy hot, salty tang…

Piquant.

Pleasure.

Desire has a taste, addictive.

Take me wet into your mouth and ease this luscious aching hunger, love.

I am famished.

Dine with me.

ante meridiem

Somatic memory and fevered dreams leave my skin aching as I wake, my nerve endings ablaze against the cool morning air, straining for the brush of your fingertips. My right collarbone is tender to the touch, indelibly bruised from the weeks-past force of your forearm pinning my shoulders back even as your fingers so gently held my head, the demand in your gaze at once a vulnerable plea:  Look at me.

I close my eyes against the rush of sensation remembrance brings, seeing you above me once again, rippling my honeyed walls soft and strong against the ghost of your penetrating hard, reveling in the trail of cool heat that my hands, becoming yours, imprint upon my flesh.

I feel my temperature rise as I open my eyes to sunless light, reveling in sensual reminiscence.

Look at me.

My body blushes even in the absence of your watchful eye, and I wonder, not for the first time, just exactly how much you see.

Top 100 Sex Blogs of 2015

There is much fuss about the term “sex blogger” and it seems people are generally either (a) desperate to be recognized as one, or (b) repulsed at the idea of being considered one.

(Yes, yes, all of life is a spectrum and it’s not that simple and maybe you have one butt cheek firmly positioned in seat A while your entire torso is haphazardly positioned over seat B… Yadda, yadda, yadda.)

Regardless of all of that:

There was once a reasonably long-standing member of the blogging community (Rori) who felt that people who write about sex (in any way – be it sexuality and sexual identity, sexual health and education, erotica, etc) should have some sort of way to get to know one another, and be recognized for their efforts. With that in mind, she composed a yearly list of Top 100 Sex Blogs, using readers’ nominations and her own set of criteria, and made that list available to readers. The list is not without controversy, but the spirit behind the list is one of promoting community.

This year, the list did not come to fruition. Rori has, essentially, retired.

In her absence, another blogger (Molly) has taken up the challenge of creating a (belated) Top 100 list for 2015, in the spirit in which it was intended.

If you feel so inclined, you may nominate your favorite sex bloggers (I know, I know… I don’t love the term either) here.

And if you’re not sure about the “sex blogger” label (I sooooo dislike labels!), you might want to read this. It’s a broad perspective and, in my opinion, an accurate one.

Consider this a public service announcement.

Do with it what you will.

:)

Sweet and Lovely Men

puppy

I took an online quiz this morning, answering the questions as my spouse would.  It was for the purpose of determining “what kind of submissive” he was/is.

(Consider that introduction all the warning you’re going to get about the content of this post.)

Normally I roll my eyes and anything so Cosmo-like, but I was genuinely curious as to how he’d “rate” because:

  • I am not fond of the term “submissive” or, generally, of men who claim to be (key word: CLAIM).
  • I find certain submissive qualities attractive in men, but typically submissiveness is “defined” (by men, about men) in ways that are annoyingly kink-focused, while my interest(s) lie(s) in {1} intent, {2} behavior, and {3} (gasp!) personality.
  • I was hoping that someone else out there might share my point of view that “submissiveness” is NOT about SEXSEXSEXSEX, but is, rather, a defining characteristic, and one that most men don’t/can’t/won’t recognize or acknowledge, even if they are the classic poster boy model for such behavior.

So I proceeded.

And you know what?

Somebody out there finally got it right.

The questions given were certainly not the best, and the situations proposed were fairly vague and were open for a bit too much interpretation, and initially, the answer-options were a bit too broadscope (with sex, power, and service being the three general themes), but ignoring all that…

I took the quiz, and when the results came back, I smiled.

Because somebody out there finally got it right.

pantsHonestly, I was expecting to see a “rating” at the conclusion of the quiz along the lines of You are not a real submissive.  Go hire a pro domme to flog you until you bleed and come back when you’ve decided you like that sort of thing.

But nope!

The creators of this quiz actually *got it* that there is more to submission than sex and masochism.

NOTE:  My husband does not self-identify as a submissive male; labels are a tricky thing, and he has good reasons for disliking that one.  I don’t need the term to understand the man.  It doesn’t change who he is or how we are together.  So if you’re reading this thinking, “I’m not a submissive,” believe me:  I get it.  But also, if you are involved with me intimately (I said intimately, not sexually – they are not necessarily one and the same) and are reading this, wondering whether or not you are submissive?  If you are male, believe me:  You are.  Even if you are as vanilla as cream soda.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

To give you a bit of an overview:

Does my husband get off on being bossed by bitch women?  NOPE.

Does he enjoy pain?  No.  (Though his pain tolerance is high, and there is the whole spanking thing, so…  Kinda?)

Does he believe all women are superior to men?  NO.  (Seriously, this kind of thinking pisses me right the fuck off.)

Does he go out of his way to make sure I get/have what I want/need?  Yes.  Always.

Does he make sacrifices for me?  YES.

Does he respond positively when I ask him to do something?  Yes.  (Yes, Ma’am.)

Does he concern himself with my pleasure?  Yes, even when that pleasure is not sexual.  Perhaps especially then.

See, the thing is, my husband is a sweet and lovely man.

Sure, he can be a handful.  He can throw a tantrum and behave like an immature, irrational asshat.  He is human, after all.  He’s not perfect.

But mostly, he’s quite wonderful.

He does an amazing amount of work around the house without having to be asked, and he does it gladly.  He does not grumble or whine, complain or wheedle.  He just does what needs to be done.

Do I have to ask him to do things sometimes?  Yes.

Do I have to remind him to finish a chore he started?  Sure.

quoteBut big deal.  He sometimes has to remind me to bring my wallet when we go to the store.  (Which is actually another sweet and lovely thing, come to think of it.  “Don’t forget your __________, hon!” is an oft-repeated phrase when we are headed out the door together.  Because how many times have I forgotten to bring the stamped stack of enveloped invoices with me and don’t realize it until I get to the post office drop box?  Or I walk out to my car without my keys/hat/sunglasses and have to go back and get them before I can leave?)

He does – and has always done – things to accommodate my needs and desires.

And before you start thinking, “Oooooh–!  NOW we’re getting to the sexy stuff!”, uhmmm…  THINK AGAIN.

Yes, there is that.  Of course there is that.  Which is why our relationship is structured the way it is, and why I had an MFM threesome when I wanted one, and why he remembered I’d said I wanted a specific kind of sex toy and gave me one for Christmas.

But there is so much more than that.

There is, and has always been, his attention to my safety.  Which is why, when we first met, he took to picking me up from work at night so I wouldn’t have to ride the bus during questionable hours.  And why, when we moved into our new house, he argued with me about installing a security system.  And why, last weekend, he purchased a chemical-free cleaner and wiped the inside of my windshield clean and streak-free.

There is his respect for my intelligence and my need to continually learn.  Which is why, ten years ago, he said “Absolutely!” when I told him I really wanted to step back from working for a while and go back to school.  And why, when I said “I’m changing careers” he said “That’s fantastic!  What do you need from me?”

2013-05-03 19.59.18There is his trust in my ability to manage finances.  Which is why I control the checking accounts and design the budget and pay the bills.  I seek input from him, of course.  Of course.  But the final decisions are mine.  And, lest you think that I am some sort of dictatorial money-grubbing byatch, consider this:  It was his decision to make it that way.  And it’s a decision he’s stood by, even when times are tough.  He’s been out of work since August, and it would be a natural reaction for him to start grabbing for control during a time when there is so much that is out of his control.  But, no.  He asks questions, yes.  We are transparent with one another, yes.  But the money is still mine to manage.  Which takes an amazing amount of trust on his part.  In all honesty, I would not be able to function if the situation was reversed.  I have a tremendous amount of admiration for him because of that.

There is his trust in my decision-making abilities.  Do I screw up?  Sure.  Does he hold it against me?  Nope.

There is his willingness to put me first.  And again, I don’t mean that sexually.  Though there is that.  I come first.  (Regardless of whether he comes at all.  Heh.  :P )

He is going back to school.  His classes start in a few weeks.  A couple days ago, he seemed somewhat troubled by this turn of events, regardless of the fact that he is excited at the prospect.  Why?  “What about your MA?” was his question.  My answer:  “Well, I see no reason why I should spend $25,000 on a degree that’s going to earn me $40,000/year.  Seems like a waste of money to spend so much on taking a paycut.”  (I am a pragmatist.)

But he was concerned that his going to school right now was somehow going to slight me of an opportunity to do so for myself.

See?  Me, first.

And really:  Me, always.

Because he is a sweet and lovely man.

He is a gentleman.

And that, my friends, is what my cosmo-esque quiz came back with this morning.

He is a gentleman.

Not in a Southern-Boy Manners kind of way.

Does he open doors and pull out my chair at the restaurant and help me into my coat?  No.  And I don’t need that from him.

And not in a She’s-So-Superior awestruck choirboy kind of way.

Does he put me on a pedestal?  No.

Does he put me first?  Yes.

He is a gentleman.

And that, to me, is the number one attraction factor in my romantic relationships.

Do I need (or even want) someone kinky (I’ll get into my feelings on kink another time; for now, I’ll just say that for me, it’s not about doing a thing, but rather, it’s about experiencing a specific thing with/to/for/about a specific person) or masochistic or who always bottoms in the bedroom?  NO.  Sweet baby Jesus…  A thousand times NO.

If the person I am with is kinky, or a bottom, or a masochist, that’s okay.  If that’s part of Who They Are, I will embrace those facets of their Self (so kindly contain your lecturing).  Of course I will.  Does he want to bottom?  To be denied?  To __________?  Okay, that’s cool.  We’ll do that together.  But, to me, all those schmexy things…  Put simply:  that’s not what submission is about.

Sex is not a cause; it is an effect.

And for me, the sweeter and lovelier the man, the greater the effect.

I could go on.  But I think that’s enough for now.  So I’ll leave you with this:

lioness

I have no idea what’s going on in this photo, or who that man is. All I know is that when I Googled “submissive male” this is one of the photos that came up. And I like it. :)

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Accreditation Mumbo Jumbo: Image sources listed where applicable. E-card and swimming lioness pictures found via Google. The $5 bill that says “You are smoking hot” is mine. ;)