*If you intend to play along with the story from this point, you will need to collect:
1. A dress, a skirt, a tutu, or if you have none of these, a towel or short sheet. A bra, or tape. Pantyhose, stockings, tights, long underwear, or the longest pair of socks you have. High heels, any heeled shoes, or even shoes with cans under the heels. Hair ribbons, or barrettes if you have them. Also, the girliest makeup you have (red lipstick, blush...).
2. Two water balloons.
3. Two tall glasses of water.
4. A cream pie.
5. A bowl of dip, porridge, beans, thin oatmeal, or similar treacle-like substance that we'll called sludge.
6. A large cream cake.
You will see that item between asterisks like so: *item* when the story directs you ready or place them somewhere, and then read a * symbol each time one of these items is to be employed.*
A romantic at heart, you know there is nothing in this world greater than love. If you can help this poor lovesick fool find a date to his party, then by gum you will do so.
"Gosh, thanks buddy. This really means a lot to me. You see, I already know exactly where to get a date, I just need someone to go get her."
The clown directs you to a local salon & boutique where he says you can find this mystery date of his, and you obligingly depart to meet her. When you arrive at the threshold of La Payasa Beauty and Fashion, a cute little hole in the wall of a twenty floor building, you know immediately that you've come to the right place; the decor is a mad semblance of bright colors, polka dots, and stripes, as you would expect of clowns or those who would associate with them.
"Hi there!" the effervescent stylist at the reception desk greets you, "Do you have an appointment?"
You begin to explain what you are here for, but immediately after you've uttered both the words "clown" and "date" you are interrupted but animated squeals.
"They're going on a date tonight! How exciting! But she's not here yet; she won't be in for at least an hour yet."
You try to tell her that she can just relay the message as you inch turn toward the door, but the receptionist/stylist stops you before you take your first step.
"Oh, no. You have to tell her in person, she'd never believe it coming from me; I have a bad habit of making things up. We don't have any chairs out here, we pride ourselves on never let a customer wait very long, so you'll just have to wait in the salon."
She takes your arm and all but drags you to a styling chair, where she sits you down and throws a barber's cape around your neck.
"As long as you're here, the least I could do is give you a free haircut and beauty treatment."
You attempt a protest, but when she starts to pout, you concede and let her get to work on you. It's been a while since your last haircut anyway. You have some misgivings about the pickle slices she puts over your eyes, but have small concerns about a beauty treatment from a professional. You relax so thoroughly that you begin doze, unaware of the *makeup* and *hair accessories* she applies to you.*
"All done! Don't you look handsome?"
You remove the pickles from your eyes in time to see the hand mirror she was holding being put away in a drawer. For the first time, you notice a complete lack of wall mirrors in the salon.
"Well, she's still not here yet, but I got an idea for what else we can do while we wait for her."
You make an effort to look at your watch, but before you can get a glimpse at it, her hand is over it, pulling you further into the shop, towards the fashion boutique.
"We can pick out a dress for her to wear tonight! Don't get all MALE on me and roll your eyes, bucko. You just got a free haircut, so you can indulge me with a little looking at dresses time."
She pulls you over to a short rack of the most eccentric dresses you've ever seen. Well, since Lady Gaga, perhaps not the Most eccentric, but it does appear that several of these creations were frankensteined together by a cadre of insane bridesmaids. Your captor takes one of them from the rack and pushes it into your arms.
"Hold this."
You sigh in resignation as she continues to pile more strange articles of *clothing* into your arms.
"That ought to do it. Now to try them on."
You expect to have to wait outside the changing booth, but she pushes you right into it, and follows you in, latching the door behind her. In the confined space, you don't even have room to turn around. Questions of propriety come to mind, but before you can ask them, she's removed your pants.
"Thanks for being okay with this, I'd model the dress myself, but it's not in my size."
Despite protests, futile attempts to turn around, and endless squirming, she systematically removes your clothes and replaces them with tights, a brassiere, a dress, and high heels.*
"That's almost perfect, except for the fact that haven't got any boobs, of course. These should do."
The mad little force-feminizing girl slips a pair of *water balloons* into your bra and jiggles them around for good measure.* You hear her undo the latch and step out of the changing booth, but by the time you manage the same, she's in the little service elevator by the dress rack, holding all of your clothes in her hands.
"That dress looks great on you! See, I told you so. I'll see you upstairs."
You try to reach her before the elevator doors close, but the heels she's slipped on your feet make running difficult. The elevator leaves without you and dings its way up to the twentieth floor. You search around for the call button, but find only a keyhole, and she undoubted took her key with her. With no other options present, you hobble over to the stairwell. At the base of the stairs, you try to remove the troublesome heels, but find tiny locks on them and feel another at the back of your dress; looks like you're stuck like this until you find the little clothes stealing wench, nineteen floors up. Using the handrail as best as you can, and favoring the balls of your feet, you slowly ascend to the top of the building. As you crest the last step, you can here music from the other side of the door.
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