Wrong party

His name was Ethan, a twenty-year-old known for taking dares too far. That night, he was drunk on bravado, bragging to his friends he could crash any party and last the night. When they pointed out the girls’ house down the block, an all-girl party, invitation-only, he laughed. “Piece of cake. I’ll walk in, stay an hour, and come back with proof.”

He never imagined what kind of proof he would be bringing back.

The door creaked open after his third knock. A tall brunette in a satin robe leaned against the frame, smirking. “Well, well. A little stray. Who let you in?”

“I, uh, thought this was open,” Ethan stammered.

The brunette turned her head and called into the house, “Girls, we’ve got ourselves a volunteer!”

In seconds, he was dragged inside, the music vibrating the walls, perfume thick in the air. Dozens of eyes turned to him. Some laughed, some clapped. A blonde in a glittering dress whispered loudly, “Oh my god, it’s like he walked in begging for it.”

They circled him like sharks. Hands grabbed his hoodie, tugging it off. Another girl, petite with sharp eyeliner, shoved him onto the couch. “Sit, toy.”

Ethan tried to smile it off, but before he could stand, a makeup brush swept across his face. “Hold still,” the brunette warned, straddling his lap. “We’re gonna make you prettier than any of us.”

“No, wait, I..”

Shhh. Lipstick pressed onto his mouth, too bright, smeared deliberately. Laughter roared as a phone flashed in his face. “Oh, he’s blushing already,” the blonde teased. “You like this, don’t you?”

More girls joined in. Foundation smeared, blush piled heavy, eyeliner wings so exaggerated he looked like a doll. One slipped a choker around his neck. Another fastened bangles on his wrists.

“Take off his pants,” someone shouted. Cheers followed.

They stripped him down, ignoring his protests, tugging a silky mini-dress over his head. The fabric clung to his chest, rode up his thighs. The blonde shoved black stockings at him. “Put them on. You’re not standing up until you do.”

His hands shook as he rolled them up, the room erupting in whistles. He stumbled when they forced stilettos onto his feet, barely able to balance.

“Walk for us.” The brunette snapped her fingers.

He wobbled forward, nearly tripping. The room exploded with laughter. “Oh my god, look at her go!” someone screamed.

Each step in heels made his cheeks burn hotter. His legs quivered, hips swaying against his will just to stay balanced. The girls cheered louder, encouraging the exaggerated sway. “Slut walk! Slut walk!”

They posed him, made him sit cross-legged “like a lady,” snapping endless photos. One girl crouched down, licking her finger and smoothing his smeared lipstick. “Perfect little doll,” she purred.

The humiliations escalated: they stuffed fake breasts into his bra, tightened a corset around his waist until he could barely breathe. They spritzed him with perfume, made him practice blowing kisses, twirling his hair extensions they clipped in.

“Smile, sweetheart. You’re our party favor tonight.”

By the end, Ethan looked nothing like himself. He was their creation, a gaudy, sexy caricature of femininity. The more he tried to resist, the harder they laughed, telling him to pose, to twirl, to blow them kisses. His body betrayed him, moving as they demanded, each step another nail in the coffin of his dignity.

Hours later, they finally grew bored. One of them patted his cheek. “You were fun. Don’t wash it off just yet, yeah?”

Stumbling out of the house, dress clinging, makeup smeared but still intact, Ethan made the walk of shame home. Each click of the heels on the pavement echoed in his skull.

When he slipped inside his house, praying no one was awake, his sister was on the couch with her phone. She looked up, froze, then her jaw dropped.

“…Ethan?”

Her silence lasted only two seconds before it cracked into uncontrollable laughter. She doubled over, clutching her stomach. “Oh my god. You, look at you! What the hell did they do to you?”

“Shut up,” he muttered, trying to slip past.

But she jumped up, circling him like a cat around prey. “Is that a dress? Stockings? Heels? Oh my god, they even gave you tits!” She poked at the stuffed bra, cackling.

He pushed her hand away, his face burning. “It was just a dare.”

“A dare? You look like you’re about to head to the red-light district.” She whipped out her phone. “No way I’m not saving this forever. Mom’s gonna love it.”

He fled to his room, her laughter echoing down the hall, the click of his own heels betraying every step. For the first time, Ethan realized the dare hadn’t made him the winner, it had turned him into the joke. And his sister would make sure he never lived it down.