Psychic Mania in Las Vegas

By Joan Taylor

The book is about Leonard's life and loves.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jan 19, 2012
• ISBN: 9781467040136

Joan Taylor

Las Vegas, I love you, with all your rich, famous, poor and beautiful people. Thank you for allowing me to live in this magnificent Fairyland City I now call my home. My father was from Liverpool, England and my mother was from a small, mostly French community in northern Alberta, Canada. I’ve travelled a long way from my humble beginnings as a young Canadian girl. In Edmonton, the capital of Alberta, I was the first female to open a part time employment agency in the city, MIS-JO Office Services. I was known as a headhunter, keen on finding office jobs for women. As time flew by I then moved my office headquarters to Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada, where it prospered for many years. In my single days I had many girlfriends, and we were always going to tea cup readers, clairvoyants, psychics to find out when we were going to meet our Prince Charming, and I’m very happy to say, this exciting activity is still going on today. I was told by a well-known Psychic in Vancouver, B.C. when I lived there, that I would meet an American and marry him. Three days later this American appeared in my office, and to this day this man, my husband Hobie, still has the other half of my heart. Was that a coincidence or a psychic prediction? We owned “Hobie’s Roadhouse,” one of the busiest bar and entertainment houses in Concord, CA and it seemed at that fast-moving time in our lives that we were there forever. Horses were our passion at the time, and we opened our own stables at Bay Meadows and Golden Gate and spent many years and dollars in the horse industry on a ranch in Oakley, CA, U.S.A. I have two daughters, Karen and Nancy, who have always thought my beliefs as a psychic were a little off the wall, but my entire career has always been greeted with humor. I’m sure if they were asked today if they thought their mother was psychic I might find their answers rather amusing. My oldest daughter Karen lives in San Diego, California, U.S.A. with her husband Rick, and my two grandsons, Nicholas and Chandler. My younger daughter Nancy lives in Edmonton, Alberta, Canada with her husband Ray, and my other two grandsons, Klarc and Koletrane. Their life is centered around the boys’ careers in the exciting world of hockey. My sister Kiki, and her family live in Airdrie, Alberta, Canada. My great friends Robert & Lily Groulx who helped me edit and type my manuscript, are always verifying my psychic abilities. My passions are God, the Universe, Jesus, St. Rita, my spirit world, my husband, our children and grandchildren, our friends, clothes, walking, swimming, bike riding, people, our back yard, writing, hockey, football and my amazing Psychic World. I proudly dedicate this book to all those wonderful people who tell me their stories every day throughout the year; I love you all. Thank you all again and again, for my beautiful life here in Las Vegas, Nevada, U.S.A. ... “Thank You All” for buying my book. Enjoy!

Book preview

Contents

The Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Eight

Chapter Forty-Nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-One

Chapter Fifty-Two

About The Author

I BELIEVE: in Tarot Cards as

they Inspire Many People.

Joan Taylor

The Prologue

When the owner of the bookstore hired me, he told me not to take my new career too seriously; that I was only an Entertainer, not a Psychic. He didn’t believe that anyone had Psychic Powers. He said that my job was to make money and keep the customers happy.

Every day people phone in or sit across from me at my round table in my small space in the bookstore. They tell me who they sleep with, love, hate, cheat on, steal from and dream about. They candidly introduce me to their sick, alcoholic, drug, gambling and addictive worlds. They share some of their most shocking secrets with me. WHY?

When my tarot cards are shuffled and placed before me, I smile. Is this déjà vu? I’m always asking myself if I was ever a prostitute, healer, psychic, astrologist or an entertainer in one of my past lives, because it just feels so me. Am I driven to share these raunchy, heartwarming, inspired by true stories with the world? YES! But perhaps I’m just trying to find out who I really am, in return.

* * *

I BELIEVE: in Psychicsas

a lot of us "Really Want To

Help Others" and most of us

take our work seriously.

Joan Taylor

Chapter One

The Bookstore

It’s funny how one can remember the first events that bring him or her to a place that changes the path of their life. Several people in my work tell me, after seeing me, that path-change has happened to them. Such comments always make me a little uneasy, as I’m still confused and struggling over my title. Am I a psychic or an entertainer?

It took several months of driving by that bookstore before I went in. Then finally on a drive-by, I noticed a psychic wanted sign on the window advertising this spiritual position and I applied for the job. I am a graduate of the Psychic Institute of San Diego and when I moved to Las Vegas, I had to fly back several times to finish my classes and receive my graduation certificate. Even with my clairvoyant studies, I never really knew where all of this was taking me, but I was driven by a profound urgency to complete the course.

Weeks later, holding my graduation certificate in hand, I was interviewed for the position of psychic by the bookstore owner himself and I was hired on the spot. As an independent contractor I was given an official outline of what was expected of me, dress code included. They no longer wanted the gypsy back-alley image, but a more professional look. Hurrah, my new career was now looking up with a little more class. Next on the agenda was an application to the City of Las Vegas for my psychic arts license, at an initial cost of four hundred dollars, plus a two hundred dollar renewal fee each year. Then after spending many hours at appointments for personal background checks and finger printing, I was finally handed my psychic arts license. I wrote a letter to Oscar B. Goodman, Mayor of the City of Las Vegas, with a carbon copy to Sheriff Bill Young, Metropolitan Police Department. I thanked them for the kind and generous services I had received from their great employees in obtaining my psychic arts license in the city.

It was a wonderful, gratifying experience, especially being a new resident in this fine city I now call home. I was delighted when both of these community leaders wrote back, thanking me for my letters and kind words about their professional staff members and employees. The letters are now framed and proudly displayed on the wall in my home office.

As I enter the front door of the bookstore, a bell rings; I am sure it is telling me that I am entering another world. There is an odor like musk in the air, masked by burning incense and lighted candles. The soft music I hear is either haunting or sad depending on one’s mood. Just before I enter my six by eight foot, purple-curtained haven, I look back into the store and see all those rows of flat tables holding hundreds of books from all over the world. I think to myself, If only I could read them all, but there is no time in my busy life right now. Maybe someday I’ll have lots of time for reading, but by then, I could be blind. As I continue toward my allotted space in the back of the store I get quite excited and something inside me shouts, Come join me; adjust your chair, and follow me into my psychic world in the bookstore. My space is small with tables, chairs, candles, statues, and glittering wall beads, that help re-create that special atmosphere connected to the metaphysical world. Every day I lay out my Indian napkin runner to help guide me in my tarot card readings. They call me on the phone, come in person: these strong, beautiful, intelligent, well-educated people (some rich, some poor) and they return time after time. What do I have that they want? Am I a psychic or an entertainer? Come, follow me and decide.

* * *

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I BELIEVE: in "The Power of

Prayer."

Joan Taylor

Chapter Two

The Beginning

I have just received my new Community College catalog for the fall semester. Flipping through the pages persistently, my eyes catch a page titled Substance Abuse. The hours and days of the week offered for this class fit perfectly with my busy schedule as a psychic and the college is only twenty minutes from my work. I am a firm believer that when things go smoothly and fall into place, they are meant to be and this great schedule was leading the way.

There are many addiction problems for so many people I read for. As a psychic, I wanted to educate myself on these important issues. Now, when I turn over the tarot cards on the subject, I might know a little more how to guide people. I immediately enrolled in the class entitled Substance Abuse-Fundamental Facts and Insights, for the fall semester with a small enrollment taught by Dr. Marcus. His astrological sign is Pisces. Ah, I tell myself, the same sign as Einstein. I’m sure he would have liked that, if I had told him. I knew I’d learn something from this man, and I did.

The class lasted several months. I hung onto the instructor’s every word, taking notes and studying them during my four-mile walk each day. Study and exercise each day for several months really improved my mind and helped my body become stronger. There were times when I felt incapable of absorbing the difficult language, puzzling over complicated words such as serotonin, dopamine, tetra hydro isoquino lines, benzodiazepine and endorphin; leading me to ask myself why I wasn’t taking a basket-weaving class instead of a class with all this scientific jargon. I didn’t give up though, and it got better and better. My tarot card readings seemed to develop more depth and meaning each day. I learned about avoiding the addiction problem, protesting, blaming others, self-reliance and responsibility, controlling and the kind of anxiety a couple of my clients were living in hell with.

It got easier on topics like self-worth, self-esteem, self-value and self-respect. Then we moved on to denial, construction of emotions, depression, hyper-vigilance and compulsion. Understanding these topics became second nature to me regarding dependence, enabling, dysfunctional families, all-arounders, uppers, downers, obsessive thinking, inhalants, stimulants, and the infamous American apple pie: cocaine, heroin, alcohol, tranquilizers and the well-used marijuana. It is amazing how many times each week I hear, Oh, I just smoke a little pot when I’ve been taught that it is six times stronger than it was in the sixties. With the new technology it’s right up there with cocaine.

Now the classes have ended and I can honestly say that I really enjoyed the ride. During my last day in class Dr. Marcus surprised me when I went to turn in my exam paper. He asked me to sit down. He seemed intrigued with me when I told him that I was employed as a psychic in a bookstore down the street. He was a small man in his sixties, highly intelligent like Einstein. He had lived, worked and traveled all around the world. He told me his interests were turning from teaching to studying Christ and the Bible. I really liked him and felt we bonded. We hugged and said goodbye.

I had a strong feeling that we would never see each other again, but who knows? Perhaps one of these days he’ll pop into the bookstore for a reading, or better yet, I’ll sign my book for him. On the ride home, I did some deep thinking, wondering what I really had gotten out of those months of studying and it hit me like a hot flash: Expectations! What people expect when they use drugs, alcohol, nicotine, gambling, love, sex, jobs, family, friends and most of all, what they expect from their children. All of this circumscribes my life too, what my guests expect from me when paying for a psychic reading. It’s all under the umbrella of Life’s Expectations.

That sums up what I learned from Dr. Marcus at Las Vegas Community College. All those tools he taught us to use help me pass my knowledge on to the wonderful people I’m reading for in the bookstore today.

I feel blessed, not only to be able to read tarot cards for my guests, but also blessed that I took those classes and can now guide them more intelligently. One day Dr. Marcus wrote on the chalkboard in class, Ramble On In Life, But Keep Your Mind On The Donut And Not On The Hole. Today it still sticks in my mind.

Thank you so much Dr. Marcus and the Community College in Las Vegas, Nevada.

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PISCES MAN

Our dreamers: always in their own ‘Secret World’ where they can dream, plan and think on their own. (Always Exceptions)

I BELIEVE: all "Things Are

Possible."

Joan Taylor

Chapter Three

Fuck The Handyman

Right now it’s lights on. Break a leg. I’m an entertainer and the front desk host calls, Joan, someone is here to see you. She’s a famous musician. She floats, like a musical note, into my small space in the bookstore. I adore her. We hug and I invite her to sit down. I go to the front desk and register my unofficial guest for a psychic reading. When I return and look at her sitting across from me at my table, I visualize a British horsewoman. All laced up, with a white, buttoned-down, long-sleeved blouse, vest, long wool skirt, and a bowler hat looking prim and proper on her mount.

Yet she’s far from that. She’s a walking time bomb and what I would call a happening. She has what every woman in the music world is trying to achieve: in her early forties, she has a slim body, beautiful blonde-streaked hair and to add to her resume, she’s rich and famous. Over the years she has mastered the art of makeup and can create any look she so desires, from a devil to an angel.

That angel is making her stops around the world, smoking pot and playing her beautiful instrument: the piano. I always thank her for coming and sharing her private life with me. I feel like a famous musician for a few hours. She laughs and tells me it’s not all that glamorous out there and I know she’s right. She has a wonderful, loony sense of humor and is always poking fun at herself. She usually finishes my sentences before I do, which I don’t mind, as this is a habit I’m trying to overcome.

She’s Cancer the Crab in astrology. Mother of the Zodiac, she wants to know where she’s going with this crazy life of hers. Also, where is Mr. Right? I tell her a little about her Cancer sign. "You’re highly sexed, emotional and especially enjoy long-term relationships.

You’re wise, imaginative, sensitive and home-loving, I say. Now Carrie, what man would not want you? Those are characteristics every man is looking for in a woman. I shuffle my cards and tell Carrie, This is your life before you." I lay them on my Indian napkin and reiterate that if she makes good decisions, her life will be good. However, if she makes bad decisions, her life will suck.

The first card I turn over reveals that she is depressed and blindfolded with several layers of tape binding her arms. She feels trapped and is very emotional, but I see that there is no tape around her ankles, so she can walk away from any bad situation she’s in. It’s all in her head, just mental.

What’s making you so depressed, Carrie?

I’m fucking my handyman, that’s what, and I’m so disappointed in myself. Not only do I fuck him, but I pay him for the work he does around my house. What’s the matter with me, Joan?

Is he a good fuck? I ask.

No, she says, he is lousy. He can’t even get it up!

Is he good looking? I ask. Not really, she tells me. What’s his birth date, Carrie? I say. She answers, He’s a Virgo.

In astrology, they say most Virgos have a wiry frame, boney shoulders, long thin fingers and usually don’t require much sex. Now, there are always exceptions, I tell her. No, she says, "that fits him to a ‘T.’ He’s in his early forties, but he tells her his years of smoking pot have taken its toll on his pecker. They keep trying and trying, especially after a few tokes on a joint. When she is not working, they spend their afternoons and evenings in the local hardware stores, picking out door knobs, tiles, window frames, screws and paint for his next day’s work in remodeling her dream home in one of Las Vegas’ not-so-ritzy areas.

Realtors have told her not to put any more money into this house as she will not be able to recoup any of her investments. The area does not warrant such high prices, but she continues to spend her money on it. She feels that she’s Miss Home & Gardens at her best, when she’s not working.

There’s also that handyman doing his thing, she tells me. He’s always leaving his tools, not his clothes, around the house so he has to go back and forth, back and forth. This is driving her nuts. She now has no privacy and privacy, as an entertainer, is very important to her. How long has this been going on? I ask.

Three or four months, and now he’s taken my precious front entrance fountain apart, and has an intricate part with him that needs to be put back together. The fountain won’t work without that part and I have to call him again and again to remind him that it is still in his truck. Every time I want to break up with him, there’s always something.

When you make love, do you talk afterwards? I then ask.

Are you kidding? she says. I can hardly look him in the eye. I’m so ashamed of myself. I’m still so concerned about my beautiful artsy house I’m remodeling. It’s my passion and outlet, and it’s still not finished. She adds, So far, he’s done a great job on it.

I’m laughing and so is she. She doesn’t want to brag, but she’s famous and when she’s on stage she thinks to herself, I wonder if anyone knows I’m fucking my handyman? He’s clean but poorly dressed, you know, like a handyman; casual, very casual. I tell her that there is a very sad part to this affair. Your Virgo handyman happens to be madly in love with you. He’s had a great ride. You’ve fed him breakfast, lunch and sometimes dinner. You’ve paid for the food and for his handyman services and he got to practice his pot pecker on you. Let’s hope he’ll meet another woman and his ego will be at an all time high because of meeting you. I suggested she get her fountain part back, end the relationship and find a new handyman.

When good men (that is if you’re looking for one) are searching for a special woman, they will shy away unknowingly from a woman who has another man’s aura around her. I tell her that I don’t know where I got that from, but I do recall something of this nature on a television show. We both laugh, but agree.

With her next card I see three men in her life. The first one is tall, dark and handsome. She tells me she has many pictures of him, hanging all the way down the hall in her artsy home that she is remodeling. In fact, her handyman has even helped her line them up, while she stood back and critiqued the alignment of the photos to make sure each was centered properly. Then he very carefully tapped in the picture hangers. This younger handsome man took part of her crushed heart with him when he left her. He literally drained her, sucking life and blood out of her veins.

She walks around today, deeply hurt that he left her, weak and unemotional, repeatedly asking herself, why did he have to leave her? He was her life. Is she ever to love again? This one-time happy woman is now bawling like a baby in front of me. She truly is one broken spirit. How could any man do this to a woman?

I hope someday soon she’ll heal and come to terms with her depression and pain. Maybe that’s why she let her handyman come into her personal life. He understood. God called the tall, handsome man’s name. It was his turn. Her young, handsome, twenty year old Aquarius son, had committed suicide with a drug overdose. She’s sharing this story with me; no more phony laughter now, only tears from both of us. Too emotional to read on, besides our time is up. Goodbye Carrie, I love you. Let’s meet another day. After she leaves I wonder which hat I was wearing. Was I a psychic? An entertainer? Astrology nut, maybe? Or just another mother having empathy for a woman who lost her only son by an overdose of drugs?

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CANCER WOMAN

Are you one of those clingy types of women who finds it hard to let go of the past? Then you must be a Moon Child. (Always Exceptions)

I BELIEVE: in "Love of God,

Family, Friends, Animals,

Nature and to Love Ourselves."

Joan Taylor

Chapter Four

The Orgasm

I adjust my headset and push my phone button. The front desk tells me that Barbara from Los Angeles is on the line. I connect and hear this woman crying hysterically. Has someone died, I wonder? Barbara, we haven’t read before?

No she said, but I need your help Nancy.

She calls me Nancy, but I do not correct her. I ask for her month and date of birth. She is a Scorpio, born on November 18. She is thirty-eight years old and mentally wounded. She calms down, telling me that she has some specific questions regarding her Cancer husband, Robert. My knowledge in astrology helps me understand this complex couple, Scorpio versus Cancer.

They both take great joy in keeping secrets, but neither of them can stand a secret being kept from them. She gets tired of his teasing and loony jokes, so what does a Scorpio woman do? She gets even. Her passion may leap from love to hate. There is no happy medium for this gal, unless she learns to master each situation. It’s just the way God made you, I tell her.

In January she had two major surgeries in her pelvic area, claiming she nearly died twice on the operating table. The entire time Robert was by her side, holding her hand when he could. She was very touched and claims this helped during her rapid recovery. Her doctor told her that her recovery time should be about six weeks, then she could resume a normal, active sex life again. She has followed her doctor’s instructions to a T, and today her six weeks were up. Although she was still a little tender in her pelvic area from the operation, she climaxed during sex and thought she had a great orgasm with her husband that afternoon.

They were lying in bed talking about sex when Robert suddenly asked, How come you didn’t climax? She told him she did. You’re lying, he said, there’s no one that knows your body inside and out like I do and there’s no way you climaxed. He told her he could not believe her and that this could cause some very serious problems in their relationship. He leaped out of bed, got dressed and stormed out of the house. She was in shock. Barbara, I feel like something else is wrong, I said.

So do I, that’s why I called you, Nancy, she replied. Robert and Barbara both hold good jobs, have two beautiful, healthy children and share an awesome home with lots of friends; in fact that’s why some people call them the epitome of what married couples should be. She tells me that she was pregnant with their first child before she and Robert got married. She still wonders if he would have married her if she hadn’t been pregnant. I think to myself, what a heavy burden for a woman to carry around all those years. Tonight, they would be hosting a dinner party for several friends and business associates. For some reason she just can’t tolerate this whole scenario and had to talk to someone and that someone happened to be me.

Her voice is now more in control and I can feel her Scorpio anger, or maybe her sting. Please, Nancy, do my cards for me because I believe in them, she asks. So do I, Barbara, I add. If only I can crawl into her head, sit behind her eyes and guide her through this unhappy situation in her precious life. Perhaps I can, and will. I shuffle my tarot cards and place them on my Indian outline napkin.

She asks, Is he having an affair? My cards see him socializing and partying with women. More than one is hanging around him. Could he be going to a strip club?

She wants to know if he still loves her as he seemed so dedicated when she was having her operations. I tell her that something happened between the two of them and only she knows what I’m talking about. The cards I read on him tell me he is questioning himself. Does he still trust her? Because it seems he cannot forget or forgive something she had done to him in the past. But Barbara, you can change all of this. Win your man back. Make him feel secure. Don’t play games with him.

Then she asks, Is our sex life doomed?

Not in a million years, I tell her, but I will see what the cards say. I shuffle and reshuffle.

A pregnancy card appears, not once but twice.

Who’s pregnant Barbara, because I see you having another child?

Will I stay married?

Of course you will, but remember it’s up to you, Girl! I know that the seventh and thirteenth years in a marriage are real stretching points for many young couples. They either continue to move on together or they separate.

A solid home is very important to a Cancer man. So he’ll think twice about breaking up his little empire and give a great deal of thought should it come to leaving his children. In astrology, he is known as a great father and family man. You say you love him. Keep him. Make it work. He’s not only your husband, he is the father of your children, or is he? I question. She does not answer, and for some reason I do not want to know, but I get the feeling that Robert does not trust her. Is one of the children not his? I don’t go into that. My cards tell me that you’re having another child, however I have been told by men that of all the relationships they have, their relationships with Scorpio women are tense. Go woo that man of yours. Make yourself beautiful, take classes on women’s intuition, keep the house clean, be the best mom you can be. I surely don’t need to coach a Scorpio on what to do in the bedroom. Make it all happen. You have a charmed life, don’t go screwing it all up. I’m no Dr. Ruth, I know that if he loves her, after sex he’d be more concerned to know if he hurt her rather than if she had climaxed, especially since she’d had major operations six weeks earlier.

My cards tell me that there should be more communication between the two of you. Sit him down. Tell him that you love him and need him for the rest of your life. A Cancer man needs to feel secure and needed, otherwise he cannot function. Ask him what’s bugging him. And, by the way, stop spending so much money, it’s driving him insane.

Our time is up. I feel so connected to her. I have a feeling it will have a happy ending. ‘Thank you so much, Nancy, she gushes. I thank her and tell her it was my pleasure. By the way Barbara, my name isn’t Nancy, it’s Joan." She apologizes and we both laugh and hang up.

I sit for a moment and think about how two complete strangers, talking on the phone for such a short period, one calling the other by the wrong name, could create such a strong bond and connection with each other. I marvel at sharing such an interesting and intriguing part of her life. I really feel as though I was in her head. I just know I was. Am I such an entertainer that now I believe that I’m a psychic, counselor, astrology nut, or am I just plain full of it?

.....continued on next page.....

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SCORPIO WOMAN WITH CANCER MAN

A Splendid Union if they can cut out the trauma and suspicion that plague them about their past relationships and learn to trust each other. (Always Exceptions)

I BELIEVE: we live in one of the

"Most Beautiful Cities in the

World," Las Vegas, NV., U.S.A.

Joan Taylor

Chapter Five

Porno Swinger

She’s been waiting for me for about fifteen minutes while I’m dilly-dallying around the front counter, joking with the front desk host. I’m checking our appointment book to see who my first guest is. To my surprise, she’s standing right beside me. Are you Jen? I ask. I certainly am, she replies.

I apologize for keeping her waiting and lead her into my small space, guide her to a chair, close my purple curtain and tell her that I’m ready to roll. We’ve read before haven’t we Jen?

Yes, she says, it’s been about eight months. To my surprise, she says she did everything I told her.

Now, wait a minute, ‘everything?’

She’s laughing and repeats, Everything. I’m thinking, what on earth did I tell this woman? I know it will come to me and it does. She’s a typical Libra woman, with a medium build, curvy body, large flattened down bust, square jaw, pale eyes, heart-shaped mouth and one dimple at the right side of her lip. She looks rather tall sitting down, but she’s really not. She has no makeup on and no lines in that early forties face of hers. Her mousy hair is really outdated with stringy bangs covering her high forehead. This head of hair really dates her.

She’s dressed casually, with jeans and a rather mannish plain, loose grey cord jacket, giving her a flirty or coy, come-hither look. If she had told me she was a female cab driver, I would have believed her, but she wasn’t. She’s a major Las Vegas Swinger and a very busy Porno Phone Sex Host on the internet. She has just opened a new website and is very pleased with the results. She lures men or women by talking dirty to them on her free website and then if everything goes well, she invites them into her private back room on the internet. You know, like a black widow spider. Yeah, she agrees, that would best describe her.

Entry to this private internet room costs megabucks and is charged to their credit cards. For an astronomical sum she will strip naked, masturbate, open her legs as wide as possible, go down on all fours rocking back and forth and getting customers to imagine whatever is in their sick porno-creative minds. You name it, she’ll do it. Meanwhile, she still talks dirty to her sweaty customers, while they are doing their thing in front of their home computers.

While she’s talking, I’m thinking about all those poor, sex-starved and confused partners of her clientele, as she calls them . . . the wives, girlfriends, husbands, and boyfriends that are in competition with an inhuman bloody computer. She works for a busy phone sex company out of Florida. Her clientele, is getting larger everyday, with repeats morning, noon and night.

She claims that the huge population is hungry for what she offers and that it’s very much needed. She’s making more money now than ever, including in her younger days as a stripper. She walks around with a tiny phone attached to her upper body so she can accept calls at a moment’s notice. She’s also a major player and organizer of a swingers’ club in Las Vegas. They do it for singles, couples and three and four ways, with any paraphernalia imaginable. Of course, those voyeurs (peeping toms) have to pay a good price to watch the live sex and jerk off. She’s been married to her husband for thirteen years; says she loves him very much and has never been happier; although, at one time, she planned to divorce him. Their whole lives have changed since he joined her in the World of Swingers. They also have their own website on the internet where they engage in live sex and masturbation. She says they are having a ball. England is on their agenda this summer and they look forward to hooking up with other swingers there. She tells me that their lifestyle is more popular in Las Vegas than I could imagine. I tell her it’s not my bag. Now wait just a minute, I think, is she trying to hustle me? Don’t you ever get hooked on wanting to be with one man more than another? I ask her. Well, yes Joan, that’s partly why I’m here, she says.

She wants a general reading and has some major questions to ask about the Aquarius guy we talked about before. Oh, those handsome and detached Aquarius creatures! Why wouldn’t she be attracted to him? In astrology, some say, he’s her soul mate.

I ask her to put her hands flat down on the table while we do some grounding exercises to rid her body of her negative energy and replace it with new, positive energy. I encourage her to do this exercise on her own and I tell her they do it a lot in yoga. My reading begins. I see a man with whom she is having an affair. She begins to talk about him even before I turn another card. An Aquarius policeman has stolen her heart. Is he good in bed? I ask. Perfect, she tells me. Are you swinging with him? I ask.

No, she tells me. She met him while she was working the cage in one of the big casinos she left about eight months earlier. He was always interested in her off-duty affairs and swinging. He wanted her to set up a three way, but she liked him too much to share. Now wait a minute Jen, I thought you told me that you loved your husband, I remind her. I do, but I love two men, she says. Now you have the hots for a handsome policeman? I add. Right, she says. I need your help. I do the cards and tell her he’s married, with two children by his side and he isn’t leaving home.

He has a very happy card in his love area.

You mean to tell me that in eight months you never asked him if he was married, had children, or anything personal about him? What on earth did you talk about? I ask.

Me, she says.

She said that she never asked about his personal life, she never wanted to hear the truth: that he was very much married. We continue talking while I shuffle and lay down my cards. Where do you meet? I ask. Oh, he comes over to my house, is her reply. But you told me you live with your husband, I say.

I do live with him, but he goes off to his work meetings several times each month, she states. Aren’t you afraid that your husband will find out? She doesn’t say anything. Where does the policeman park his car?

He parks in our driveway. His car isn’t marked.

"Jen, you’re living on the ‘cutting edge.’ You don’t need a psychic, Girl, but you may need a policeman soon, but it’s not the one you’re in bed with. You’re going to get caught. I swear it’s