Body Swap Baseball: Two Hindered Hooters and a Curvy Catch
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Title: Body Swap Baseball: Two Hindered Hooters and a Curvy Catch
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"Yo, Tom! Ready for a game of catch?" I hollered over my shoulder, juggling a battered baseball in one hand and tugging at Momâs impossibly tight yoga pants with the other.
"You bet," Tom answered, striding into the backyard, his face beaming with a grin. He looked at me - or rather, at our momâs body which now housed my consciousness - and smirked. "You wearing Mom's workout gear again, bro? Thatâs a new low."
I sighed deeply. "You think I got any choice here? Her jeans feel like theyâre vacuum-sealed. Besides, do you know how hard it is to run with these things?" I jiggled Mom's chest, the motion making me wince and making Tom laugh uncontrollably.
"Yeah, yeah," Tom said, composing himself. "Let's just start. Throw me one. Nice and easy."
I eyed him skeptically, adjusted the grip on the ball, and drew my arm back. As I threw, Momâs ridiculous French-tipped nails glinted in the sun and the ball veered sharply off course. "See? These nails are a menace!" I yelled in frustration.
Tom chuckled as he retrieved the ball. "Maybe you should file them down. Or better yet, get a manicure, sis."
I glared at him, but secretly, he had a point. "Fine," I grumbled, "but if I start spending hours at the nail salon, you're footing the bill."
The truth was, adjusting to Mom's body was like learning to play baseball all over again, except this time, my teammates enjoyed giving me way more grief for it.
At our next game, Coach was already having a field day. "Alright, Laura," he said, slapping Mom's name harder than necessary. "Make sure those, uh, assets don't interfere with your catching."
"Har har, hilarious," I replied dryly, donning my warped Bulldogs jersey that strained awkwardly against Mom's chest. "Let's just play."
As usual, I was lighting it up on the field. Even housed in Momâs curvy form, the muscle memory from years of batting and catching didn't just disappear. What did change was how absolutely everything else had to adjust around it. When I slid into third base and caught the ball mid-dive, it inevitably lodged right between the very prominent, erm, assets. Tom stood there at third base, unable to contain his laughter.
"Still counts as an out, you know," I said, picking myself up and ignoring the snickers all around.
"Only you could pull off a boob catch," Tom said, wiping a tear from his eye.
Another game, another bruise. This time a fastball had me clutching Momâs chest and writhing in pain. "Hey, nothing a bag of frozen peas won't fix," Tom snickered again, helping me up.
By now, I was starting to see something remarkable. Momâs body, curvy and uncooperative at times, was definitely no slouch. With rigorous workout routines and considerably ineffective yet cathartic yelling at the mirror, I got her into better shape than she had been for years.
The best part was seeing my old high-school friends pack into the stands, urging me on with a mix of nostalgia and curiosity about this new âLaura 2.0.â Their teasing nicknames were relentlessââBusty Bulldog,â âCurveball Curves,â and of course, âMomteurââbut nobody could deny I was still the best out there, even under these...circumstances.
Tom was always there, the world's worstâyet bestâcheerleader. "You got this, Broski!" heâd shout, way too loudly for comfort.
In the dugout, he nudged me with a cheeky grin. "So, bro, have you mastered the art of finding baseball pants that fit over that curvy ass yet?"
I rolled my eyes, adjusting my too-tight waistband again. "Still a work in progress, Tom. With hips like these, every game feels like Iâm walking a runway."
Together, we laughed. Despite everything, our shared love for baseball kept us going, boobs, butt, bras and all. Tomorrow, who knows? Maybe Iâd perfect the diving catch between the ever-meddlesome mountains of Momâs chest. Stranger things had happened.
But whatever twists life threw at us, one thing remained solidâTom and I were ballplayers through and through, body swaps be damned.
This story was generated by user zach3 with assistance by one of OpenAIâs large-scale language-generation model; prompts used to help generate the story are shown below.
Images were generated with OpenAI's AI system, DALL¡E 2, or uploaded by the user.
AI Prompts
Prompt: write a story with a lot of dialogue where Me and my brother loved baseball. We both played together growing up. We was a far better player than me and he was probably going to get drafted to the pros after college. That was before the great shift which was an occurrence that swapped 50 percent of thew populations bodies came and swapped him into our motherâs curvy and busty body. Obviously he was pretty bummed out at first, especially when we first decided to play a game of catch he had a hard time throwing with his new boobs in the way he always complained about moms french tipped nails throwing off his grip too. but my brother has always taken things in stride. He decided to workout momâs body and get her ready for Coed baseball season where he played with some of his friends from high school they liked to tease him and make nicknames about his new body but he was having fun and still was the best player in the team even with the two large hindrances on his chest. One time he even got it by a pitch on the boob which caused me and all his buddies to laugh or that other time he went for a diving catch and the ball landed in his mountainous cleavage, hey still counts as an out right even if you catch it with your boobs. I didnât know mom was in such good shape. He did struggle to adjust to moms new breasts but over time he grow to get used to them but his usual Bulldogs font across his jersey was warped by moms chestiness. He also struggled to find baseball pants to fit over his curvy ass and wipe hips. write the story from my brother perspective
Response: Title: Body Swap Baseball: Two Hindered Hooters and a Curvy Catch --- "Yo, Tom! Ready for a game of catch?" I hollered over my shoulder, juggling a battered baseball in one hand and tugging at Momâs impossibly tight yoga pants with the other. "You bet," Tom answered, striding into the backyard, his face beaming with a grin. He looked at me - or rather, at our momâs body which now housed my consciousness - and smirked. "You wearing Mom's workout gear again, bro? Thatâs a new low." I sighed deeply. "You think I got any choice here? Her jeans feel like theyâre vacuum-sealed. Besides, do you know how hard it is to run with these things?" I jiggled Mom's chest, the motion making me wince and making Tom laugh uncontrollably. "Yeah, yeah," Tom said, composing himself. "Let's just start. Throw me one. Nice and easy." I eyed him skeptically, adjusted the grip on the ball, and drew my arm back. As I threw, Momâs ridiculous French-tipped nails glinted in the sun and the ball veered sharply off course. "See? These nails are a menace!" I yelled in frustration. Tom chuckled as he retrieved the ball. "Maybe you should file them down. Or better yet, get a manicure, sis." I glared at him, but secretly, he had a point. "Fine," I grumbled, "but if I start spending hours at the nail salon, you're footing the bill." The truth was, adjusting to Mom's body was like learning to play baseball all over again, except this time, my teammates enjoyed giving me way more grief for it. At our next game, Coach was already having a field day. "Alright, Laura," he said, slapping Mom's name harder than necessary. "Make sure those, uh, assets don't interfere with your catching." "Har har, hilarious," I replied dryly, donning my warped Bulldogs jersey that strained awkwardly against Mom's chest. "Let's just play." As usual, I was lighting it up on the field. Even housed in Momâs curvy form, the muscle memory from years of batting and catching didn't just disappear. What did change was how absolutely everything else had to adjust around it. When I slid into third base and caught the ball mid-dive, it inevitably lodged right between the very prominent, erm, assets. Tom stood there at third base, unable to contain his laughter. "Still counts as an out, you know," I said, picking myself up and ignoring the snickers all around. "Only you could pull off a boob catch," Tom said, wiping a tear from his eye. Another game, another bruise. This time a fastball had me clutching Momâs chest and writhing in pain. "Hey, nothing a bag of frozen peas won't fix," Tom snickered again, helping me up. By now, I was starting to see something remarkable. Momâs body, curvy and uncooperative at times, was definitely no slouch. With rigorous workout routines and considerably ineffective yet cathartic yelling at the mirror, I got her into better shape than she had been for years. The best part was seeing my old high-school friends pack into the stands, urging me on with a mix of nostalgia and curiosity about this new âLaura 2.0.â Their teasing nicknames were relentlessââBusty Bulldog,â âCurveball Curves,â and of course, âMomteurââbut nobody could deny I was still the best out there, even under these...circumstances. Tom was always there, the world's worstâyet bestâcheerleader. "You got this, Broski!" heâd shout, way too loudly for comfort. In the dugout, he nudged me with a cheeky grin. "So, bro, have you mastered the art of finding baseball pants that fit over that curvy ass yet?" I rolled my eyes, adjusting my too-tight waistband again. "Still a work in progress, Tom. With hips like these, every game feels like Iâm walking a runway." Together, we laughed. Despite everything, our shared love for baseball kept us going, boobs, butt, bras and all. Tomorrow, who knows? Maybe Iâd perfect the diving catch between the ever-meddlesome mountains of Momâs chest. Stranger things had happened. But whatever twists life threw at us, one thing remained solidâTom and I were ballplayers through and through, body swaps be damned.
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