Recently I was working at my friend Raul's office when The Montel Williams Show came on the TV. Nobody in the room was paying much attention to it until psychic Sylvia Brown took the stage. Sylvia's raspy voice indicates a three-pack-a-day habit and she reminds me of of an old drunk on a barstool offering up bits of wisdom in between slugs of a whiskey sour. I believe she's been doling out less than sincere advice to daytime talk show audiences for more than a decade.

"Check her out." I said to Raul and my friend Tyson who was also in the room.

We watched as a lady in Montel's audience asked Sylvia to reveal the name of the lady's personal spirit guide.

"Elliott." Sylvia replied in a bored, definitive tone. "His name's Elliott."

Raul, Tyson, and I exploded with laughter when we heard her deadpan answer. Sylvia's the best.

Another audience member stood up and told Sylvia that his doctor had recommended some type of surgery. He asked her if he should indeed undergo the procedure.

"No, you don't need it." she responded flatly.

The man nodded his head with satisfaction and Raul, Tyson, and I started laughing even harder.

Montel circulated about the audience selecting people with upraised hands. Each of them had a query for Sylvia and she spit out rapidfire answers which she punctuated with insolent stares and dismissive hand gestures. Her hand movements were similar to that of someone who was lazily trying to wave away a bug that had landed nearby. When Sylvia flicked her bejeweled hand Montel moved on to the next question. Some people in his studio were moved to tears of gratitude when they heard Sylvia's answers. One woman asked if her recently deceased father was at peace.

"Yeah, he's fine." Sylvia affirmed blandly.

"Thank you. Thank you, Sylvia." the woman managed to say in a voice choked with emotion. The rest of the audience applauded enthusiastically and Raul, Tyson, and I almost fell on the floor.

One daring soul tried to express his confusion when Sylvia's response to his question did not make sense to him.

"I already told you this. What don't you understand?" she demanded as she cut him off in the middle of his sentence. She looked at Montel and raised an eyebrow to manifest her displeasure. Montel left the man's side and hustled over to a different studio audience member. Sylvia would have been one of those incompetent highschool teachers in a tenured position if she hadn't discovered that she could make tons of money at this psychic gig.

We watched Sylvia's antics for nearly a full hour as we worked. It became apparent that she does not have much enthusiasm for her charade at this point in her career. She made so little attempt to conceal her disinterest in the proceedings that it seemed as if she was almost trying to make a mockery of the whole show. Presumably the psychic routine still pays the bills for her but you could tell that she has grown sick of it. She was counting down the minutes until she could puff on a cigarette and sip whiskey in her limousine. How do I know this? I'm psychic.

I do believe that some people have psychic abilities, but I don't think those folks use their gifts to perform parlor tricks or pretend that they can answer any question on demand. As it turns out some of my acquaintances feel differently. Just two days after watching Sylvia light up Montel's stage I received an invitation to a bachelorette party. I almost never go to stuff like that but I felt like I had to attend this one because a good friend of mine was getting married. The organizers of the party had arranged for several male dancers and a psychic. Yeah, a psychic. She was going to tell everyone's fortune.

Most of the women at the party, including the bride-to-be, were dancers from the same club I work at and it got pretty rowdy pretty fast. We all like to drink, get naked, and act foolish. By 7PM all of us were smashed and running around in slutty little outfits. We were waiting for the male dancers and just about everyone had forgotten about the psychic. A dark limo pulled up outside the house just as the sun was beginning to set. The driver alighted from the vehicle and attempted to hide his shock when he laid eyes on the debauchery unfolding in the backyard. When he regained his composure he informed us that "Madam Something-or-other" wished us to gather in a circle on the back lawn so she could begin her readings. In my drunken state I could have sworn that he had called her "Madam Sylvia." A bolt of jubilation shot through me. If Madam Sylvia Brown was inside that limo then I could die happy because a moment of such supreme comedy would never be equalled again in my lifetime.

Of course it wasn't Sylvia who came striding across the lawn in a multi-colored scarf and large hoop earrings. The woman called herself "Madam Saskia" and she had a presence about her that any of us strippers could envy. Something about her regal bearing just commanded attention. The sun was rapidly falling from the sky and a bit of a chill had crept into the air. All of us huddled a little more closely together on the lawn. I could sense the anticipation buzzing around me. Just about everyone had fallen silent. Madam Saskia really knew how to make an entrance. She began reciting incantantations in a foreign tongue and commanded all of us to close our eyes, bow our heads, and hold hands. She walked around the circle from behind and placed her hands on each girl's head. I know this because I kept opening my eyes and spying on her. I hastily bowed my head and shut my eyes when she approached me to lay her hands on my head. No one else seemed to be moving. Madam Saskia ordered us to keep our eyes closed and began making commentary about individual girls in the circle. Some of her words caused her subjects to emit audible gasps. She was guessing who had children, who did not, and what astrological signs related to each of the assorted dancers. She was identifying each one by the scanty lingerie the girl was wearing (e.g. "The young woman in the pink teddy is a Gemini. I feel the duality inherent in her nature.") Evidently Madam Saskia was correctly nailing some of this information because I could feel the tension build. All of a sudden she stopped her spiel in the middle of a statement, paused dramatically, and then loudly pronounced:

"There is someone here who does not believe!"

Total silence greeted her proclamation. A tinge of nervousness seem to run through the group of us. We all stood still, eyes closed and heads bowed.

"I cannot work in the presence of a non-believer!" Madam Saskia said loudly. "There is someone here who does not believe!"

"Uh, yeah, I'm right here." I thought to myself silently as I repressed a smile. That would be hilarious if she found me.

"The blonde in the black leather must be removed before I can continue!" Madam Saskia thundered. "Remove her!"

Wow, she did have my number. I looked up and stared her straight in the eye with a smile on my face. My friend Sabre felt me move and she looked down at my black leather outfit. I had been outed. She giggled and pulled me away from the group. We ran across the backyard laughing and headed into the pool area. We were both really drunk. In the end she opened up what had been her intended gift to the bride-to-be, a set of black wrist and ankle restraints, and left me shackled on one of the recliners inside the pool area. I was smiling when I asked her to tell the male strippers or any other horny passersby where to find me.

A short while later I was still shackled and alone. I was nearly naked and starting to shiver as the air grew colder. Fortunately there was a small candle on the table next to me which was giving off some heat. I could not hear any of the girls on the other side of the yard and the silence had become a bit unsettling. Once or twice I thought I sensed movement near me. I called out but no one answered. My mind was playing tricks on me. Where was everyone? It had been such a loud, raucous party until Madam Saskia had shown up. Once again I heard a noise and I struggled against the restraints to incline my head towards that spot in the darkness so I could try and discern what had caused that sound. As I did so someone or something blew out the candle on the other side of me...


You can see the entire "Strapped" gallery inside The Bondage Room of my Playhouse now.


- XXOO Tanya