The scissors are scary, but yes, I follow him.

As you enter the gallery, all eyes turn in your direction and conversation dies out, only to be replaced by a soft murmur of guests whispering.

Everyone is staring! This freaks you out. Why? But then you realize...

... they are all staring at the old Japanese woman.

You look back at her yourself, wondering what the heck is going on.

Alistair leads you and the woman to the back of the gallery where there is a small stage set up.

"Welcome everyone, to our gallery opening. I would like to introduce my good friend, Jennifer," he points to you and you bow, "and our honored guest, Yoko Ono."

Yoko Ono??? You look at her, shocked.

Everyone on the room applauds, and Ms. Ono steps forward.

"Thank you everyone, for coming," she says. Her eyes are calm but also keenly observing. "As you know, there is a war being waged on our transgender brothers and sisters. This has affected me deeply, so when Alistair called and suggested this art project, I was grateful for the opportunity. All of my photos have been done in collaboration with transgender representatives living under the most difficult conditions around around the world - including Indonesia, Chechnya, Iran, Nigeria and Egypt - and around the United States of America, including Texas, Florida, and Missouri. All of the funds raised by this sale will go to WPATH, the World Professional Association for Transgender Health."

"Thank you, Ms. Ono," says Alistair. "You will notice that each work has an estimated auction value listed, and then a minimum bid value. Since WPATH is a 501(c)(3) foundation, the difference between the auction value and the final winning bid can be taken off on your taxes as a charitable donation, so please bid generously."

This is greeted by applause.

"Now, Ms. Ono has generously agreed to stage a performance of her seminal Cut Piece. This has only been staged six times by Ms. Ono since 1964."

"This will be the last staging," says Ms. Ono.

There is an intake of breath at this statement. Everyone realizes that they are a witness to art history.

"Jenny," Alistair says to you. You look at Alistair, wondering what's going on. What is Cut Piece? You are starting to freak out.

"Would you please sit?" he asks.

You step out of the slippers and place them to the side of the stage, then carefully, the traditional kimono makes it difficult, you sit, cross-legged, on the floor at the front of the stage. Alistair places the scissors beside you.

Alistair whispers in your ear. "Try your best to remain still, look straight ahead, and don't show any emotion," he says.

You watch as Ms. Ono goes through the audience and then selects an older, executive-looking man in a suit and tie. He looks at her, startled, then looks back at you. Then he slowly comes up to the stage, picks up the scissors...

... and then cuts off a square piece from the sleeve of the kimono!

There is a gasp that goes through the audience.

You flinch, but only very slightly. You doubt that anyone but the business man can tell. You tremble slightly, but keep your eyes straight ahead.

Ms. Ono goes through the audience selecting others. An older woman. A teenager with pink hair. A soccer mom. A young artist with punk hair.

And then Alistair.

By now the kimono is full of patchy holes. People are creative about what they decide to cut away. The dress shirt and pants below are becoming visible. The Obi is gapping open.

You see Alistair in your peripheral vision. He is overcome with emotion. Tears flow down his face, which drip on to your clothes. He takes the scissors, and with a shaky hand, carefully cuts a square of the kimono from over your left breast. You see what he has cut away.

It is beautiful, embroidered cherry blossom.

The ice has been broken, and now there is a general surge of people vying to cut off a piece of your clothing.

You do your best to stay still and calm as you feel people approach and pluck at your clothes, deciding where to cut. You feel the blades of the scissors brush against your body. You have to tamp down the instinct to run away as you hear and feel the heavy-duty sheers cut the fabric. Sometimes they have to cut through seams of the kimono which take some strength, and you are jerked one way or the other.

You do your best to hold still and not react, but your heart is beating fast, you are breathing in short gasps, and every fiber of your body feels tense and frightened.

Soon, your male clothes underneath are exposed. This causes a lot of conversation. This re-interpretation by Yoko Ono has adapted her work into an expression of transgender and transvestite sympathy.

People continue to come on to the stage, one by one. They seem eager now. Not wanting to miss out. Wanting to get their piece. You endure as people pull the kimono out from under your bottom, jerking it out and cutting of pieces.

At some point, most of the kimono is gone and now you're only wearing the male trousers and silk dress shirt that Alistair provided.

Is this it? Is it over? You are hoping you can get up now.

But then, a tall, willowy man shows up. He has a smug, arrogant look about him, as he looks at you through his glasses with his well-coiffed hair and smirking face.

"Alistair said I was next," he says, brandishing the scissors. He cuts a square from the dress shirt, right over your breast...

...exposing your lacy, Victoria's secret bra.

This is the bra you had worn just for Alistair - in hopes that he might find it pleasing in bed later that night. The one with the dusty rose color that looks so good on you. The one you had agonized over. The one holding your ample mounds of female flesh in place.

There is another gasp by the audience. Another layer has been revealed. This time, a demure, feminine layer.

Now that this next layer is started, people are not hesitant to continue cutting. You feel the cold blades of the scissors now on your bare skin. You shiver with fear. Some come back two or three times.

At some point, someone accidentally cuts through a bra strap, and you feel your right breast sag. Boldly, they decide to cut directly through your bra cup! The scissors slither over the flesh of your breast. They take a piece of the shirt and the bra underneath with them.

You feel tears well up.

The cutting continues. There are a LOT of people in the gallery, and more seem to be arriving all the time. The room is now PACKED. Did they learn about this from their friends on social media?

They get bolder. Your shirt is gone. The pants are full of holes. Someone cuts out the other bra cup and your right breast is completely exposed.

Then someone decides to cut out the crotch of the pants. The scissors poke at your penis and you flinch. They look at you, eyes wide, then carefully maneuver around, cutting out the crotch.

People look and stare and point.

After a couple more cuts, it's obvious. You have a penis! The genius of the piece is fully revealed!

But still people come up to cut. Everyone wants a piece to take home with them as a memory of the event (you discover, later, that fragments of the clothing sell for over 500$ on eBay the very next day).

The shirt is gone. Your bra is gone. The pants and socks are mostly finished.

Then you feel the scissors slipping into your panties.

Oh god... no... no... you think to yourself.

But, inevitably, they slice through the fabric. And after another cut, your penis is exposed.

And you are hard.

Your small penis is standing straight up. This is delightful to everyone in the audience, who point and giggle and twitter to each other.

You have never felt so embarrassed, and frightened, and turned-on in your life. Tears are rolling down your face, you can't help it. Finally, the last of your clothing is cut away, the thong, which is pulled out from between your buns, and you are left on the stage, completely naked.

You are a picture of femininity with your breasts, your makeup, your feminized face and carefully styled hair. Your painted nails.

And you are completely exposed. Alone.

And with a nice hard erection.