Walking through the hotel lobby with my friend Sharon, a stack of cheaply printed flyers caught my eye. I don't know what made me notice some little stack of advertisements, but the heading read BECOME ART - VOLUNTEERS WANTED, with a little clip art Venus de Milo statue. I grabbed one and stuck it in my pocket as we continued on our way to breakfast.

My name is Jessica, but I go by Jessie, and Sharon and I were visiting town for a trade show through our work. Seminars in the morning, vendor-sponsored parties in the hotel meeting rooms in the evenings. Not a glamorous life, but it beat a week in the office. Sharon slowly ate the hotel breakfast, gradually waking up over coffee. I surreptitiously read the flyer while she checked her phone. With every word I read, my heart quickened:

Looking for volunteers to be turned into statues for my gallery. Must be 18+. Must enjoy the idea of becoming a piece of artwork. Showings also available. For more information or to book an appointment call (302)316-7135.

The idea of being turned into an object was a longstanding fantasy of mine, and here was a flyer purporting to do just that! Of course, I thought to myself, it was probably just a scam, prankster, or garden-variety pervert. Still, I couldn't put the card or that little clip-art statue out of my mind as I distractedly ate some eggs and followed Sharon to the first seminar of the day.

Once I got there, though, I couldn't concentrate. I kept fidgeting with the card in my pocket, so I excused myself and found a quiet hallway to make a phone call. I dialed the number on the card and held my breath as the phone rang. "Good morning, Anderson's Gallery," the voice on the other side spoke. It was a low and slightly rough, but friendly, voice.

"Hi, my name is Jessie, and I saw your flyer?" It wasn't a question, but I didn't exactly know what to ask for.

"Ah! That's good to hear. What can I help you with?"

"So… do you actually turn people into statues? Is it…real?"

My hope, sincerity, and passion must have all come through in my voice, because he spoke reassuringly. "Yes. I realize it may sound farfetched, but I assure you that it is completely real. After we hang up, I'll send you some photographs of my work over text. Would you like to set up a time to come in?"

"I… I… oh my god. I think I would. How about… tonight?"

"Excellent. How about 5:30? I'll text you an address as well."

"Oh my god. See you then."  

My heart was racing as I slowly paced back to the seminar hall. Before I got there, a text came through. A marble statue of a man and woman, both nude, in a tender but erotic embrace. They looked younger than me, maybe college-aged. A caption: "This is one of my favorite pieces. They came in together." The background looked like a workshop, tools and electronics hanging from the walls, the lighting a tad uneven. I couldn't swear that this was the real thing--transformed humans, not an ordinary statue carved from stone--but in that moment I believed it. Another text came through. This one was a statue of a young woman sitting with her legs curled under her on a pedestal. The statue was looking up towards the camera and smiling. Unlike the previous one, this statue was partially dressed, wearing a purple bra and shorts. "This is Remy, who came in three weeks ago asking to be turned to stone. As you see, sometimes I leave the statue dressed to lend a certain immediacy to the work." Remy! I wanted to be Remy there, a stone statue, on that pedestal.

I settled into my seat by Sharon, but wasn't paying any attention to her or the lecture. I texted back to the number I had labelled "Anderson" in my phone. "This is amazing. I really really want you to turn me into a decoration."

"That's good, because I intend to. Can you please send a picture so I know who to expect?"

I went through my phone and found a selfie of me and Sharon outside and sent it to him. "I'm on the right. That's my friend Sharon on the left."

I hadn't been paying attention to Sharon, but she must have noticed me blushing. "Jessie? Are you OK?"

"Yeah! I'm just fine!"

"Are you…sexting?"

"What? No!" It was technically the truth, but I was embarrassed enough that it sounded like a lie, which was easier to explain anyway. She smirked. "Well, we'll have some fun tonight, and you can show that guy your body in person when we get back home." Sharon winked at me, and I smiled through the embarrassment.

I had almost settled in to listen when my phone buzzed again with another text. I gave another embarrassed shrug and ducked out towards the hallway. "You're very pretty. You'll make an excellent statue. Is Sharon volunteering too?"

"No, we've never talked about anything like that."

"Do you want to bring her?"

My heart leapt again. I wasn't into women, not much, but Sharon had a great body and an enchanting smile and…the thought of seeing her there as a statue with me made me squirm with excitement. Before I could respond another text came in: "I'll do her first and you can watch."

"OK. Done" I texted back, breathing heavily, before I could talk myself out of it.

"Fantastic. Have a nice day, eat a good meal, see you this evening. Text or call me again if you have any questions. 5:30, at 3300 North 40th St." Well, it was settled. I went back in, gave a knowing and happy nod to Sharon, and tried to listen to the seminar.

----

A couple hours passed. The morning seminars passed in a blur and Sharon and I ate lunch together. I made light conversation in a giddy mood, which she no doubt chalked up to me sexting with some hot acquaintance back home.

I was taking a break to wash up after lunch when my phone buzzed again. Another picture from Anderson: a statue of a woman standing and smiling, holding a glass ball in one hand. The statue was wearing a pair of jeans but nothing else. The text: "Are you still on for this?"

"Yes, I am!" A moment passed. "We are. Although Sharon doesn't know it yet."

"Great. By the way. When you come, I want you barefoot."

"Ok" I texted back in agreement, but in another moment, "why?"

"Because that's my kink--well, my other kink. And because the point of this exercise is for you to be turned into an object to be looked at by others."

Whoosh, and my heart raced again. "All right. Bare feet it is for your future statue. Sharon is wearing flip-flops today, but I'm not sure I can convince her to take them off."

"That's fine. I can dress her however I need to after she's turned to stone anyway. Anyway, most of the point is for you, my guest, to get in the mood to be a helpless object in my gallery."

I didn't text back right away, but I had another idea: I found the hotel room mirror and examined myself in it. Lightly curled hair, back in a ponytail; a short-sleeved blouse and knee-length skirt; and Birkenstock sandals, comfortable for a day of walking around. I slipped off the sandals, took a photo in the mirror, and sent it to Anderson: "Can't wait!"

After trying a few poses in the mirror, I slid my sandals back on and headed downstairs to face the rest of the day. The first order of business was to figure out how to get Sharon to go along with me. I daydreamed way way through an afternoon lecture and caught up with her on our way to the next. Since she had me pegged for being head-over-heels from some hometown guy, I decided to use that for leverage. "Soooo…you've probably figured out I've been chatting with a guy…"  

"You don't say!", Sharon feigned surprise.

"Well, he mentioned this little local art shop he likes, gave me directions, and he asked me to swing by there before I go home. I'm going to go right before dinner. Want to come with me?"

"Sure, we have some time to kill. Man, you're really into this guy."

"Yeah, something about him just does it for me."

----

I sat next to Sharon in the last seminar of the day and spent the time trying to be surreptitious while ogling her. Sharon was a little shorter than me and wore glasses, with slightly wavy hair that came down to her shoulders. Like me, she was dressed casually for this summertime conference--a fairly modest blue-and-yellow sundress and flip-flops. "I'm going to see her get turned into a statue", I thought to myself, picturing her athletic legs and soft hair carved in white marble. In my notebook I doodled a little Medusa head and floating hearts. "And then I'm going to join her."

After what seemed like hours, the lecture was over. The address on North 40th street was a little over two miles away from the convention center, so we caught a bus for most of the way and got out to walk the last couple blocks. Once we arrived at the address, I looked around. The address was an office building. A black sign in the lobby with stick-on white letters read "Anderson's Gallery 2F", and a narrow set of stairs indicated a walk-up. I decided that this was the place to ditch my sandals as promised, so I quickly pulled them off and tossed them into a corner of the lobby. This did not go unnoticed by Sharon. "Jessie? Why…are you going barefoot?"

I didn't have any glib answer for this one, and my response came out weaker than before. "I'm not sure, but my guy friend says that's a thing you're supposed to do here, take off your shoes before you go in. You should too."

Sharon was unimpressed. "Yeah…I think I'll leave mine on, thanks. Hippie." she chuckled softly to herself as she climbed up the stairs. I followed immediately behind.  At the top of the stairs was a heavy wooden door with a frosted glass panel. Sharon gingerly opened it up and stepped through. I caught it with my hand and slid in behind her.

No sooner was I inside than there was a flurry of motion: a person aiming a device, an electric crackle, a tiny choked-off gasp from Sharon. I looked around to get my bearings. "Welcome…Jessie?" The man set the device down, smiled subtly, and waved to me. He was older, pushing fifty with gray hair, but trim and in good health. "I'm Eric Anderson." I was staring at Sharon, though. She was frozen midmovement, poised to take a step with her arms out for balance. "Thank you for leaving your shoes off as requested; you'll make a lovely statue."

It was really happening! "What did you do to Sharon? Is she a statue now? Is this how it works?"

"No, this device is a neural inhibitor--like a paralysis ray. It blocks the brain from telling the body to move, so whoever you aim it at freezes in place. Since Sharon isn't volunteering, I'll keep it trained on her while we get to work."

"So she can still hear us?"

"Yes, although it doesn't particularly matter since she'll be a stone statue before long. Still, I guess some courtesy is in order." He turned to address Sharon. "Your friend Jessie here thought you would make a lovely statue, and I definitely agree. I think we'll just use the pose you're in right now. It's natural, dynamic. You're an attractive woman." He leaned in close to examine Sharon, walking all around, although he kept his hands folded behind his back.

While he looked at Sharon, I looked around at the rest of the room. It was a surprisingly large open room, the size of a mattress gallery. "Gallery" was a strong word; the room was messy, full of large electronic equipment, carts and dollies, scaffolding, and tools. Mounted on pedestals were the statues Anderson had texted me photos of. Remy was there, a life-sized marble statue, curled on the floor still in her bra and shorts; so was the nameless woman wearing only jeans, bare feet and breasts, holding a glass ball. A few others were obstructed from view. There was no doubt in my mind now that these transformation was real.

"So," Anderson turned to face me, "'Jessie the statue.' Are you ready for that?"

"Yes," I agreed emphatically. "Like I said in my text: I want to be turned into a decoration." I had to catch my breath from the excitement. "I want you to do it to Sharon here so I can see what it looks like, then I want you to do it to me."

"Excellent!" Anderson smiled. "It sounds like you really have the spirit. Let me go get the petrification device warmed up." He crossed the room to a large piece of equipment, plugged in on a roller cart. It looked like a mid-20th-century minicomputer with an emitter--a ray gun, presumably--mounted to a swivel on top. He pressed some buttons and various lights began to turn on and move in patterns, and the device began to give off a low electric hum.

"All right, 'Jessie the statue'," Anderson spoke to me, "I think we're ready to go on Sharon, but before we do, why don't you get started on this 'decoration' idea by stripping off that shirt?" He raised his eyebrows matter-of-factly. I shuddered, half from excitement but half from fear; this was the first overtly sexual advance he'd made towards me.

"Do I have to?" I asked hesitantly.

Anderson didn't speak in response. Instead, he fluidly swiveled the petrification device, aimed it at my chest, and pressed a button. For about half a second, it emitted a pale blue streak of light that struck me squarely in the chest. At first I didn't feel anything at all, as if the beam had been a mere flashlight. Then I looked down and noticed that my blouse had become light gray--as if carved from stone. As I turned my torso, the blouse, now thin and brittle, cracked and fell to the floor around my feet, shattering to fragments. I stared down at my chest, now clad only in a black bra.

"Now the bra too, please. I'm not sure I have good enough aim to hit the bra and not your flesh at this distance. And you're going to end up a topless statue one way or another, Jessie. But I wouldn't want you to be one before Sharon here." Hesitating, I moved to comply. I reached back to unhook my bra and slid the straps off my arms. That done, I tossed it gently to the side, exposing my breasts to Anderson and the still-motionless Sharon. "Excellent. You're very beautiful, and while there's still a chance, I want you to feel the vulnerability of being a helpess object. Now I think we're ready for Sharon. You can get close to look, but stay a step or two back."

Now both barefooted and topless, I was indeed feeling naked and vulnerable, a rush of exposed trepidation welling up next to my overall excitement. There was no going back. Wearing only my skirt, I walked over to examine my friend Sharon. The first thought in my head was, "She's never seen me topless before." That was exciting and silly, but the second thought was "I wonder what she's feeling right now?" Was it, just maybe, lust and excitement for her own beautiful fate? Or, more likely, was it fear? Anger? At me for putting her into this situation, or at Anderson? Was it stunned disbelief?

Putting myself into Sharon's head triggered a brief surge of guilt, but as I looked in close to examine her body, that negative feeling was overwhelmed by a rush of lust. Not a desire to be overtly sexual with her, but to see the beautiful details of her helpless and immobile body. Looking in closely, I saw her ears poking through her light brown hair. I saw her dress fitting loosely over her shoulders and chest, loose enough that I could see her breasts until her bra covered them. The dress, yellow and blue, covered her legs to the bottom of her thighs. Beneath that she had smooth, lightly tanned knees, calves, and feet in flip-flops, poised and about to begin another step. I reached out briefly to give the lightest touch to the back of her neck, then took a couple of careful steps back.

"Here we go," Anderson said. He pressed the button and the pale blue beam sprang out again, striking Sharon on her shin. The beam was silent, but I thought I heard her give out a tiny gasp. The flesh where she was struck immediately lost its color as it changed into stone; the effect radiated out from there, and in moments her entire leg and foot were transformed. Her sandal and dress were unaffected, so I lost track of the transformation for a brief moment; then I saw it sweep across her other leg and upper chest. Her head and arms were last; I didn't have the chance to watch her arms and hands, as I was concentrating on watching her face. In the span of moments, her lips, then her nose, then her eyes, and finally her ears and hair were transformed to pale marble, rendering her a beautiful statue of herself.

"There she is," commented Anderson, and I stepped back and we took in the sight together. I couldn't stop looking at what had just been my friend. In marble, her expression seemed softer--more curious, less confused. The slight motions before--her breathing, the flicker of hair in the air currents--were now completely still. She might not have chosen this for herself, but I had no regret at all, completely sure that this was her perfect destiny.

"Oh my god, Anderson, you have to do that to me." I breathed it low, too short of breath to talk out loud. "Make me into a statue just like that. I need to not be able to move. I need to stand there helplessly while people stare at my body." I looked down over my nearly-naked body. Having my breasts bare still made me feel exposed, but now that made me feel aroused, not scared, and I felt a tingle of excitement spread out from my chest out through the rest of me. "Should I take off the rest too?"

"Let's see after we get you posed. That sounds appealing, but perhaps not necessary." I shivered. "Stand up there on that wooden pedestal," he pointed, "and find a pose you like." I crossed the room to where Anderson pointed, stepped up on the pedestal, and turned to face him. The wooden pedestal was warm under my feet, a pleasant change from the cold tile floor. The pedestal was across from a mirror, so I could see myself. For a pose, I clasped my hands together in anticipation and arched one foot up, bending the knee as if taking a step, and gave a beaming, ecstatic smile.

"We'll leave the skirt on. Perfect. Enjoy being a marble statue, Jessie," Anderson said, and pushed the button. As he did so, time seemed to slow down. I could see the pale blue ray streaming swiftly from the emitter and striking me in the stomach. It felt warm, like lying under a heated blanket. I held the pose as the warm feeling spread. It went quickly down my legs into my feet; it went slightly more slowly into my breasts and arms. In the mirror, I watched those parts of my body turn into white marble. Finally, the feeling of warmth enveloped my head. I heard a slight crackling as my hair changed over my ears. Somehow, I could still see the mirror. In it I could see a statue of a woman, nearly nude but for a playful skirt, and radiantly happy.

A few moments later the warm feeling began to subside. It was replaced with a cool numbness, and I could no longer feel the floor. As it did so, my vision began to darken as if the lights were lowering. I took a last look at the statue of Sharon and understood that I was joining her.  My dream had come true--I was now a helpless decoration, a barefoot and topless statue of Jessie. For the centuries to come people would stare at me, look at me, take photos and make drawings of me. My vision continued to fade until I couldn't see anything more than my reflection in the mirror, and then that faded to darkness as well. My time to fantasize about being a statue was coming to its end, and the time to be one was now.