You pull the suit off the rack, compelled by a strange force. Staring at it, it's a sleek thing of silver and metallic pink, slick and squeaky like latex or spandex, covered in designs you can't make out. Despite the color, you find yourself admiring the suit; how shiny it is and how thin yet durable it seems to be. Rubbing it over in your hands, you get a little electric thrill at the almost frictionless feeling of your skin on the suit. Just rubbing it like this is sending tingles down your spine as your eyes scan for a dressing room. ~If it's this good just in my hands,~ you think, ~imagine how great it'll be on me!~ almost giddy with delight as you spot a changing room in the back.
Your mission in hand, you stride to the back room confidently, not noticing how your hands have picked up additional costume parts from the racks. A hat. A full face mask. A strange set of cartoonish gloves. Shoes that seem to be set en-pointe.
Putting your bevy of loot down, you begin to strip out of your clothing as soon as the dressing room door is locked. Your shirt goes first, then pants, socks, underwear. Your glasses go too, leaving you as naked as the day you were born. With the last piece of clothing off, you finally take a look at the suit. It's a slick thing, skintight, covering from the top of your neck to the ends of your wrists to the bottoms of your ankles. No zipper in back but as you experimentally stretch the neck a little, you find that it can accommodate near size of person without appreciable resistance or deformation. The pink and silver seem to alternate, A pink right leg up to the knee with small silver diamonds decorating it, mirrored in silver on the other leg. From the knees to the waist the colors switch with your torso an almost equal mix of the two colors, the diamond pattern continuing. The arms are the mirrors of the legs, though the pink is on the upper part of the arm and the silver on the lower. All in all, it's a dazzling and captivating sight, visibly shining in the lights of the dressing room.
Wordlessly you nod, eager to get into the suit. Taking the neck in your hands, you stretch it open, carefully trying to slide your body in. There's a slight pinching at first but a moment later it fades to perfect slickness, the bodysuit somewhat tight on your slowly dressing body but it's nothing you can't handle. You feel your feet slide through the holes as the thing cradles your back and chest, arms working their way in as it slowly reforms around your neck, perfectly fitting right below your chin. You feel it lovingly adjusting to your body, outlining everything in its shiny perfection. After a few moments, when you feel ready, you look at yourself in the mirror.
Disappointment is a good word for how you feel now. The suit looks great. You don't. You're missing something. A lot of something. Your eyes catch the boots and gloves and you nod to yourself. The boots go on first. And then the gloves. And then you'll probably look better.
Soundlessly, you make your way over to the boots. They're made of the same material that the outfit is though feeling much more rigid and strong, matching the color and design of the respective leg they go to. Sitting on the dressing room floor, you work your left foot into the left boot. It seems to go on like a normal shoe for the first moment but, as soon as you have it on, you feel a faint sensation of...something? before your foot begins to turn itself down, forcing you to stand on where your big toe would be, if you had discernable toes. You know it should hurt but it doesn't, and as kind of freaky it is, you haven't even thought of screaming. In fact, you haven't made a sound since you touched the costume. Shrugging to yourself you put on the right shoe, the same sensation, the same visible repositioning of your feet and legs as you try and stand, a little nervous.
You're not sure how, but this just feels natural now. These shoes, this pose, it just feels like it was meant to be. You don't notice how the shoes meld with the costume, latex and latex becoming one. What you do notice is that you still need your gloves and then you'll be ready? You...you will be ready. You're not sure for what, but you know it'll be amazing.
Taking the gloves in hand, you look over them. They're almost pure white except for some light diamond patterning along the back of each glove, color matching the arms they go to. The gloves are somewhat oversized, possessing three slightly thicker but longer fingers and a thumb. Tongue out in concentration, you try and get the first one on. It takes a little pulling but you feel a "pop" as your right hand is gloved, pinky and ring finger shoved together. It's not uncomfortable though and you find, despite the unwieldy appearance of the glove, you have no problem manipulating it. Which comes in handy when you pop the second glove on, the same process taking place on your left hand. Like with the boots, you don't notice the gloves melding with the suit.
You *do* notice, however, that the room looks a tad bit bigger, even though you're on tippy toes. Mincing about a little, you shake your head a little to clear it. When you open your eyes again, the room has gotten even bigger. A tape measure along the wall lists your height as 4'11 though your proportions are the same. That height though, you're admiring yourself now. You don't have the frame yet, but you'll get there soon enough. Soon you'll look as good as the suit does.
An itch in your stomach brings your thoughts to a halt as you start to scratch it. Both latex clad hands working furiously, you rub at your belly with abandon, a warm sensation of pleasure working through you as you do so. A few minutes later, the feelings die down and you look. Your stomach's shrunk! Fat and abs are gone, width is gone, replaced by something more appropriate on a ballet dancer than your old body. But it's perfect. The suit looks perfect and that part of you is perfect too. At least for now.
Eyes straying down, you look at your crotch, it's hardness an unsightly bulge. A firm nod, you begin to rub at it. Your latex clad hand can feel your groin, hard and visible beginning to dissipate away under your touch. Each rub makes it get a little smaller. It's not even pleasurable, at least the rubbing. But the satisfaction of having less and less to make the suit imperfect does feel good. And when it's no more, you feel a shudder run through your body, sensations of the suit tingling against your skin better than anything your old male parts ever gave you. Somewhat surprisingly, more rubbing doesn't cause the female equivalent to appear and as you look, your hips and rear seem to have changed as well, lightly muscled and lithe like your waist, giving you the beginnings of a dancer's physique.
You almost give a squee of delight but stop yourself. Somehow the thought of making sound just seems...weird to you. Shrugging a bit you sit back down, starting to rub down your legs with your hands, feeling fat and girth melt away as they firm up. Thankfully, you're already as short as you will be, and as the warmth that filled you earlier starts to bubble up again, you notice how, on your new feminine frame, your legs are a touch longer. Huh, you might break five feet. That's neat!
When you're sure that everything below your ribs are nice and done, you stand again, rising up in a smooth and graceful motion. Just for kicks you try and put your leg around your neck, balancing on a single "toe". Much to your delight, not only does it work, but you find you can hold this pose for as long as you need to! It's like you're becoming what you should be for the suit! And that makes you happy. Happy enough really, to start your hands rubbing your chest. The warmth from before becomes an almost burning sensation as your chest starts to grow out. The feeling of your flesh pushing agains the suit is almost unbearably wonderful, made more so by the perky breasts you're soon sporting. Like the rest of you, they're small and slender, yet immensely attractive on your now thin shoulders and slender torso. Hands crossed up at your shoulders, you run them down your arms quick, watching them reshape as quickly as your legs, completing the you-shape that's proper for the suit.
Feeling content as you perform near impossible acts of contortion in the dressing room, your eyes catch your face. And your hair. How...plain! The rest of you is nearing perfection but your head? Quite a ways to go! But that's fine. You have a mask and a hat for that. Something tells you to put the mask on first.
Hand reaching over, you look at it. It's pure white, porcelain, shaped like a delicate female face. There's no mouth, a bump of a nose, and faint molded lines for eyes, no holes on them. Below each eye-line is a pattern of nine stars arranged in a diamond shape, a mix of silver and pink, giving the mask's cute cheeks a hint of definition. Despite the lack of mouth, the mask seems to be smiling, a demure little thing, innocent and joyful yet shy. You look around the back for a moment and there's a gag where your mouth goes. A faint tinge of worry as you wonder how you'll breathe or see but that goes away as you feel warm again. Taking a deep breath you open your mouth and push the mask on, lining it up perfectly.
The first thing you feel is how sticky it is. A moment later, the gag works its way into your mouth, seeming to fill up the contours of your mouth like a balloon before exploding a moment later, an absolutely delicious tasting liquid rushing down your throat and coating the inside of your mouth. The nose pushes in next, deforming like rubber as it accepts the contours of the mask. Your open eyes are the last to get the treatment, the sticky mask pushing into them as your brain seems to skip. And when you come to a moment later, you can see perfectly through the porcelain thing.
But it's much more than that, you can feel the air of the room on the once-mask. One of your hands reaches up. There's still a lot of disconnect between the glove and your hand, but you feel the glove on your "mask" like it was your own face. No, it is your own face. You don't blink, or breathe (you stopped doing that about 5 minutes ago, you don't miss it) and your face is locked in that demure little happy look that shows the world exactly how you feel!
Your hair though! That has to go! Thankfully, you've got a hat! And what a hat it is. A twin-tailed jester's cap, each tail pointing out at a 45 degree angle from the center, curving up slightly before going down nearly 2 feet. It matches you too, one half in pink, the other in silver, both colors fading into white where they meet your head. It covers your entire head too, except for your face and under your chin (the mask took care of the last), from your hairline to where the suit meets your neck. Without much ceremony other than a bow to the mirror and a few theatrical gestures, you sink the hat onto your head.
You can feel it going to work in an instant. This time you do notice the hat binding to the mask, to the outfit, to your head. Ears fall under the onslaught, the pink and silver and white cap pushing them into cute little circles before they fade away into nothing. Your head feels like it's changing too, like something is slowly dissolving meat and bone and replacing it with something...better? Yeah, it is better. That warmth again as the sensation builds. You go blank for a second in the middle of it, and when you come to, your head feels...proper. It's something good, better, best even! It's not like the rest of you that's still in a suit. It is the suit now. Reaching a hand to poke at your head, you feel it give slightly; a little squishy, a bit stretchy, and very squeaky. As you take yourself in, you notice that you've got a bit of a weight behind you; twin tails of hair, one silver and the other pink, flowing out from the tips of the jester cap, colors alternating with the cap's colors. It's lovely and stretchy and you find that you can control it like another arm, perfect to do fun tricks with!
You tap at an imaginary watch impatiently, as if waiting for the suit to do its own work. Not that you have to wait long. The warmth is beginning to spread again, working its way down your body like wildfire. You can feel in your hands, bones and skin dissolving, reforming into solid latex like your gloves, forever having four fingers instead of five. Your chest contracts a little, the suit there almost too tight before you feel a liberating freedom, your coverings now your skin. Your legs change too, feet losing their toes and your posture forever shifting, forever perched on a pair of thin and slender "toes." And then you feel...done. Done is a good word. Done because you've waited here long enough. You open the curtain and prance out, eager to greet the world.