If I was not such an exhibitionist, I would not put up with this our signature illusion. If the authorities that wield the blue pencil knew what was really happening they would have us shut down. When I describe what happens you'll see what I mean.

It starts simply enough a couple volunteers, usually a husband and wife, are asked to sign my limbs while I stand there in a bunny girl type of outfit. John, my magician and lover, has the husband bring forward a box on legs from the rear of the stage, while the wife is sent to a rack of costumes to select a costume and sign that.

The box on legs is opened at the front and back to show that is exactly that, then the husband is asked to help me climb into it, and the box is reclosed. John and the husband turn the box to show that the end has a set of rollers and there is a handle on the side that was the back. The husband is invited to turn the handle. This is were the discomfort starts, because I have to put my toes to the rollers and allow myself to be pulled through the narrow gap between them; thus being crushed flat.

It is difficult to describe the pain of being squashed flat, but to give those that have had the unfortunate experience of breaking a bone; try to imagine not having just one or two bones, but all two hundred-and-some broken, in quick succession, while somebody hits your with several mallets like you were a game of whack-a-mole. And this is how it feels after I have taken the potion that would ease the pain of giving birth to overgrown twins.

While I am going through the rollers John will interrupt the husband's mission to turn the handle to point out various features of my shattered and flattened body; including, but not limited to, the things that the couple wrote on my legs and later arms, and the fact that my bunny girl outfit has come out none the worse for being put through the rollers. It takes a couple of minutes for me to emerge most of the way. The last stop before me and my costume have fully been rolled out is when the top of my head comes out, so that the only thing supporting my flattened body is the bunny ears which still have a couple of inches the other side of the rollers.

The couple are invited to inspect my flattened body for the marks they made on my limbs and the wife is invited to show her selection from the costume rack and how she has signed it.

John uses this chance to demonstrate that my costume has not been crushed flat, by pulling it off my limp form, thus leaving me totally naked. Nobody is offended, because nobody believes that it is really me; they assume I am still in the box; that is until the box is turned back to its original orientation and the front and back are open to show that the only things inside the box are the tip of my bunny ears stick out from the inside of the rollers.

The good thing about this part is that it gets pointed out that I am still warm like a person, rather than a cardboard cutout, this leads to the couple being encouraged to feel how warm, soft and fleshy I feel. This bit feels great, because being touched while flattened feels so much more sensuous than being touched normally. By the time John has got them touching my breasts and between my legs, my nipples feel like they should be standing out like coat hooks, but John tells me that the only evidence of my excitement is that the area where my nipples show is a little stiffer than the rest of my flattened body.

The wife of the couple is invited to show my flattened body and the costume she signed along the front row, with the spectators there encouraged to confirm that I have detailed anatomy depicted on my flattened surface. This is achieved by pulling on my head to detach me from the bunny ears.

While I am being fondled the unknowing members of the audience, John and the husband return the wringer box to the back of the stage and bring forward a large box made of clear stuff, that is actually bullet-proof glass, this box is lower than the wringer and has a mechanism built into the lid.

When the wife returns from showing me along the front row, the mechanism is demonstrated by activating it and feeding the signed costume through it. The result is a grinding noise and shredded pieces of the costume fluttering down to the bottom of the box. Then I am fed into the machine and appear inside the box as a shower of pink confetti. This in isolation feels like being stung by ten thousand bees, but after the overstimulation of being handled by the front row, it is bearable, being a pile of me fragments means I get the added stimulation of touching myself in unexpected ways.

John makes some joke about appearing to have murdered me, with the help of the couple, but not before he gets the husband to aid him in removing the shredder from the top of the box and both of them to run their fingers through the shredded me and costume.

John resolves to get rid of the evidence, to save him and his accomplices trouble. To this end he and the husband cover the box with a cloth with a hole in the centre and then he sends the couple to the edge of the stage while he produces a hand grenade which he pulls the pin from and drops through the hole in the cloth, before making his own retreat to the edge of the stage.

There are a few moments of suspense, during which John covers his ears and implores the audience to follow suit.

Then there is a bang, the explosive force of which lifts the cloth covering the box several feet into the air. By the time anyone has recovered from the bang I am standing in the box wearing the costume the wife selected and fighting my way out from under the cloth that has just fallen back on to me.

John helps me climb out of the box, where the couple inspect what is written on me and my new costume, and confirming that they are what they wrote.

The applause is usually loud and long.