And then the writer did something forbidden: He spoke aloud. "Please mind the usage of Dan where it should have been Dean," he boomed. "They're one frickin' letter apart. Cut a writer some slack!"
And with that, the story continues as normal.
********
Dean hurried over to Jenny's house with his new, considerably bizarre gift. When he reached the door, he found Jenny already in wait, as if anticipating his arrival.
Jenny ushered him in excitedly. "So, what did you get me?!" she blurted.
"Feast your eyes on this!" and the suit was procured.
"What on Earth... is this a suit? How bizarre. It's barely my size!"
"Well, why don't you try it on and see if it fits first?"
"Well, alright..." and with that, they headed to Jenny's room.
********
Meanwhile, the writer did yet another blasphemous thing. He spoke again. "I've noticed that with every successful iteration of reality, it becomes more and more terse where it can," he deducted. "By the end of it, each turn of reality may only consist of one sentence, one word, nay, one dot." And with that, he vanished in a puff of work.
********
Jenny set herself in front of her mirror while Dean watched closely at an off angle. She pulled her tanktop over her head and began to unbutton her skirt. She let it fall to the ground and pulled her panties off slowly, as to give Dean ample time to stare. Finally, she unhooked her bra, revealing her moderate yet shapely breasts. She stood naked for a bit, turning and twisting around, giving Dean a gratuitous show with a smile, then she proceeded to slip on the rubber suit. In the legs went, easy and smooth, much to Jenny's surprise (being rubber, she thought it to snag on her form, but she found it kindly slicked). She pulled the suit up to her hips, analyzing her now featureless legs, her holeless crotch, and her conjoined buttock. Further she pulled the suit up, bringing her arms through and watching her fingers fuse into one solid mass and thumb at the other end. She took a glance at her long chestnut hair, then slipped the headpiece over, concealing any evidence of its existence. Last, she picked up the blonde wig and pulled it over her bald skull, completing the transformation.
She looked over herself in the mirror. She now looked like a living mannequin, with no definition but the face she was drawn with. Though the face wasn't covered by the suit, what skin wasn't still looked strangely flush with the color and tone along the rest of her body. She rubbed her breasts and felt no nipples, pushed them aside and found they snapped back into place. She bent over and felt the skin tighten along her backside, yet not constraining, and the skin forward refused to fold, keeping a smooth curve all the way. Finally, she ran her fingers along her crotch to feel no strong sensations except the run of rubber on rubber. It was strange, yet comfortable.
Jenny whipped around to ask Dean of what he thought of her new look, and as she did...