The sign was hand-painted on the door at the bottom of the basement steps. FREE FIRST SESSION. The studio inside smelled like A&D ointment and something burnt. The artist was a woman. She pointed at the chair. She did not introduce herself. You sat. You rolled up the sleeve.
The buzz of the gun started before you asked what she was doing. The first line opened skin where you no longer had hair. She kept going. Your other arm was thinning under her fingers. By the time you noticed, the first line had bled out into a fishnet that climbed up under your shirt and re-stitched the inside of your chest tight.
The second line was already inking your forearm into a grey sleeve of teal waves. The needle was carving out a fishnet bra under your shirt. The fluorescent strip overhead buzzed. You went to feel your chest with your left hand. There was a bra under your shirt.
Your hair was teal already and down past your collar. The fishnet was visible under the open zip of the hoodie. The breasts behind it were a minute old. A needle was finishing your hips. The denim was still settling. The fingers of your left hand had been on your cock for thirty seconds before you noticed. You did not stop them.
The needle lifted. The ink on the artist's thumb was brown. Your hand was on something that was not a cock. You came against the seam of the new jeans without making a sound. The fluorescent strip buzzed. The empty needle sat on the tray with the blood and ink on a paper towel beside it. Through the open door at the top of the basement steps the FREE FIRST SESSION sign was still on the wood, the paint barely dry.
***
The artist set the gun down. She wiped her thumb on the front of her tee. She walked around the chair without looking at you. Her hand was on the side of the chair. Then her knee was. Then she was on your lap, straddling you, the leather of the seat creaking under both of you.
Her hand was under the hoodie on your stomach. She smelled like sweat and the heat came off her. The tip of her nose was cold on your neck. She bit you and you shuddered. She did not bite hard enough to draw blood. Her breath was warm. Her tongue was cold.
Her hand was already at the zip of the hoodie. She unzipped it all the way down past your sternum and pushed the fishnet up. She cupped your breast under it. You were already wet for her. She slid down between your legs spread across the chair. She unbuttoned the jeans. She unzipped them slowly. She pushed her fingers into you.
You came on her fingers. It was fast and messy. The fluorescent strip overhead buzzed. Her thumb was still in you, slowing. Then the thought arrived in your head fully formed, and it wasn't yours, and then it was. You were hers. You had always been hers. The first time you had walked into this studio she had smiled at you and you had thought she was cute. The needle had touched you. The old self watched from somewhere small, and then from nowhere.
She pulled her thumb out and licked it. She climbed off your lap and turned to the tray. She did not look at the door. You did not look at the door. The fluorescent strip buzzed once and held. You stood up out of the chair. The new jeans were already wet at the seam. You walked to the mirror by the wall. The girl in it had teal hair and a smug grin and the same chair-creak in her knees as you did. The FREE FIRST SESSION sign was visible through the open door behind her, half in the sun.