Ryan hated the annual check-up with the aesthologist. The smell of antiseptic. The cold, clammy hands wandering over his skin. The subtle tuts and furrowed brow of the man every time he found a blemish. The doctor cupped his buttock in a latex glove.

"Cough, please."

Ryan coughed.

"Zero jiggle," the aesthologist murmured to the nurse under his breath. He turned back to Ryan and cleared his throat. "No, I'm afraid it's not looking good, young man. You've got a receding ass. Quite a severe case."

"Can't I just live with it?" Ryan whimpered.

The aesthologist frowned severely. "If it's not treated, your buttocks could become completely ingrown. You'd never wear a belt again. You're just lucky we caught it when we did. No, a simple brace should bring it back into alignment. Nurse, please would you fit this gentleman with a standard brace. Thank you."

Ryan lay on his front in the chair as the nurse lifted his shirt. A series of injections numbed his spine before she began carefully threading the corset-brace through the muscles of his spine with what resembled a knitting needle. Finally, she pressed a foot into the small of his back and drew the two loose ends tight. The air was pushed from his squashed lungs in a high gasp. Through the tears smarting in his eyes, he looked down past his crushed abdomen to his flared hips.

"I'll book you in to be tightened in a month," the nurse smiled.