"Busted at the Bench Press: A Gym Tale of Transformation"
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"Come on, Mike! You can't just hide at home forever." I nudged him – or rather, her – as we made our way to the gym. "You used to love working out."
"Easy for you to say," Mike replied, fidgeting with the strap of his sports bra. "It’s hard being 5'3 and... well, you know, 'busty.' This is not my scene anymore."
I tried not to chuckle at his discomfort, but it was a challenge. Seeing my best buddy, who now barely reached my shoulder and had an hourglass figure, acting all tough was the highlight of my week. And to be honest, he was kinda cute. "You'll do fine. Plus, you'll break necks with that look."
Mike shot me a glare that could melt steel. "I'm here to lift weights, not collect admirers," he muttered, heading into the women's locker room while I took a detour towards my own.
When we reconvened on the gym floor, Mike was wearing black leggings and a hot-pink tank top that amplified his feminine features. He looked like a walking Instagram post – all sass and curves. But that fierce determination in his eyes? Pure Mike.
"Okay, let's start with the bench press," I suggested. "You go first."
Mike lay back on the bench with newfound caution but managed to hoist the barbell effectively. Watching his now-curvaceous body working the weights was, well, fascinating. Every flex brought out a jiggle here, a bounce there. I wished I had popcorn.
"Show off," I teased as he set the barbell down.
"Shut up," he huffed. "Your turn."
It continued like this for most of the workout. Mike lifted like he usually did, albeit adjusting to his new center of gravity and... umm, assets. I cheered him on, watched in awe, and tried to keep a straight face.
It was during squats that I completely forgot myself. Mike stood up from a deep squat, his leggings stretching over his well-proportioned behind, and I instinctively gave him our usual encouraging smack on the butt.
"YELP!" Mike's eyes went wide, and he nearly toppled over. His face turned as red as a tomato, and he glared at me, embarrassed and flustered.
I also blushed. "Dude, sorry! I forgot how–" I trailed off, not finishing the obvious.
"Yeah, just... don't do that," he mumbled, looking away. "It's strange enough as it is."
His reaction made me chuckle, not out of ridicule, but because Mike was still Mike under all those curves and faux bravado. We continued our workout, trying to ignore the occasional awkwardness.
After an hour, we'd worked ourselves to the point of exhaustion. "See, wasn't so bad," I said, handing him a towel.
Mike sighed, wiping his face. "Yeah, I guess I can do this. It's just... it's weird, alright? Knowing it's me in this body. I miss my old one."
I threw an arm around his small shoulders, more to reassure him than anything. "We'll get through it, buddy. Maybe it's different, but different doesn't have to be bad. Besides," I smirked, "you make one cute gym rat."
Mike rolled his eyes, but a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just keep your hands to yourself next time."
And so we finished our workout, as two mismatched-but-determined gym rats, embracing the weird, and occasionally hilarious, new normal.
This story was generated by user zach3 with assistance by one of OpenAI’s 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 dialogue where Me and my buddy were gym rats we loved to workout. After the great shift which was a strange occurrence that swapped the bodies of 75 percent of the world's population, put him into a 5’3 busty chicks' body he has been afraid to head back to the gym. Well today I finally got him out of the house, we’re heading to the gym now and I have to say he’s kind of cute. But he is trying to act tough still even from his short and quite busty and curvy frame. We head to the Lockeroom together, he heads to the women's much to his chagrin and I head to the men's. When we come back out, we head to do a workout. Most of the time I'm watching as his new ass and tits jiggle with every exercise he does. After one lift I was used to giving him a normal encouraging smack on the butt. I forgot about just how much more curvy his new butt was so when I smacked it he yelped and I blushed, He glared at me but blushed afterwards It's strange knowing its him in that body.
Response: "Come on, Mike! You can't just hide at home forever." I nudged him – or rather, her – as we made our way to the gym. "You used to love working out." "Easy for you to say," Mike replied, fidgeting with the strap of his sports bra. "It’s hard being 5'3 and... well, you know, 'busty.' This is not my scene anymore." I tried not to chuckle at his discomfort, but it was a challenge. Seeing my best buddy, who now barely reached my shoulder and had an hourglass figure, acting all tough was the highlight of my week. And to be honest, he was kinda cute. "You'll do fine. Plus, you'll break necks with that look." Mike shot me a glare that could melt steel. "I'm here to lift weights, not collect admirers," he muttered, heading into the women's locker room while I took a detour towards my own. When we reconvened on the gym floor, Mike was wearing black leggings and a hot-pink tank top that amplified his feminine features. He looked like a walking Instagram post – all sass and curves. But that fierce determination in his eyes? Pure Mike. "Okay, let's start with the bench press," I suggested. "You go first." Mike lay back on the bench with newfound caution but managed to hoist the barbell effectively. Watching his now-curvaceous body working the weights was, well, fascinating. Every flex brought out a jiggle here, a bounce there. I wished I had popcorn. "Show off," I teased as he set the barbell down. "Shut up," he huffed. "Your turn." It continued like this for most of the workout. Mike lifted like he usually did, albeit adjusting to his new center of gravity and... umm, assets. I cheered him on, watched in awe, and tried to keep a straight face. It was during squats that I completely forgot myself. Mike stood up from a deep squat, his leggings stretching over his well-proportioned behind, and I instinctively gave him our usual encouraging smack on the butt. "YELP!" Mike's eyes went wide, and he nearly toppled over. His face turned as red as a tomato, and he glared at me, embarrassed and flustered. I also blushed. "Dude, sorry! I forgot how–" I trailed off, not finishing the obvious. "Yeah, just... don't do that," he mumbled, looking away. "It's strange enough as it is." His reaction made me chuckle, not out of ridicule, but because Mike was still Mike under all those curves and faux bravado. We continued our workout, trying to ignore the occasional awkwardness. After an hour, we'd worked ourselves to the point of exhaustion. "See, wasn't so bad," I said, handing him a towel. Mike sighed, wiping his face. "Yeah, I guess I can do this. It's just... it's weird, alright? Knowing it's me in this body. I miss my old one." I threw an arm around his small shoulders, more to reassure him than anything. "We'll get through it, buddy. Maybe it's different, but different doesn't have to be bad. Besides," I smirked, "you make one cute gym rat." Mike rolled his eyes, but a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just keep your hands to yourself next time." And so we finished our workout, as two mismatched-but-determined gym rats, embracing the weird, and occasionally hilarious, new normal.
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