"Diamonds are a Mom's Best Friend"
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Title: "Diamonds are a Mom's Best Friend"
"So, Bro... uh, Mom?" I asked as my wide-eyed brother peeled off his sports jersey revealing a bra as supportive as a construction beam. He gawked down at his new "extraterrestrial orbs" as he had named them.
"Yeah, yeah, I know," he sighed, the new quiet lilt to his voice throwing me off. "They're worse than watermelons."
"At least they're... symmetrical?" He gave a mock salute, along with a lopsided grin, not losing an ounce of his old humor in the newfound, curvalicious form.
His high school friends had already started with the teasing. Tits McGhee, Busty Rhonda, Booby Sue, every name under the sun. But being Bro, he just countered with crude jokes about being his own wet dream. Despite the initial awkwardness, the giggles and smirks were the familiar rhythm of camaraderie.
One sunny afternoon, in the middle of Coed baseball season, things changed. The pitch sliced through the air, unexpected and off target. And with a resounding 'thump', it found the fleshy mounds prominent on Bro's chest. I sputtered my Gatorade, a belly laugh shaking me, echoing through his buddies.
With a grunted, "Ouch," he held the offending breast, rolling his eyes at our laughter. Then, picking the fallen ball with a grin, playfully quipped, "I always knew they'd be the death of me."
Then came the game when he dove, aiming for that elusive catch. Somehow, that ball found itself not in his hands, but nestled snugly within the canyon of his sizeable cleavage. There was no rule against that, so the catch was valid! Bro just looked down, let out a laugh.
"See that? Prodigal breasts. Got me the out." We all erupted in laughter.
Clothing, however, proved to be a hurdle. Bro was an all-star player with Mom's body, but Mom's jeans? A beast entirely different. Our dog wouldn't have struggled as much as he did getting his jeans to fit over Mom's plump glutes.
"Damn, Mom, I never knew your ass was so... bountiful!" Bro huffed, successful in his jeans quest.
"I hope you're treating that body well. You know she was quite the catch back in her day," I teased, leaning on the doorway. The old Bulldogs t-shirt stretched in interesting ways as he slipped it on.
"I'll never look at the Bulldog's mascot the same way again," I added, chuckling.
Bro just threw a resigned grin my way, pulling on his jersey. Even though Bell curve mathematics had found a new practical relevance, the broad grin on my brother's face was infectious. He was in a different league now, equipped with Mom's curves and unparalleled spunk. You have to hand it to Bro, he knew how to swing life's strange pitches. So here's to baseball, Bro and the invaluable lessons in adaptability served by the great shift.
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 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 mother’s curvy and busty body. Obviously he was pretty bummed out at first but my brother has always taken things in stride. He decided to workout mom’s 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 didn’t 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 pants to fit over my curvy ass and wipe hips.
Response: Title: "Diamonds are a Mom's Best Friend" "So, Bro... uh, Mom?" I asked as my wide-eyed brother peeled off his sports jersey revealing a bra as supportive as a construction beam. He gawked down at his new "extraterrestrial orbs" as he had named them. "Yeah, yeah, I know," he sighed, the new quiet lilt to his voice throwing me off. "They're worse than watermelons." "At least they're... symmetrical?" He gave a mock salute, along with a lopsided grin, not losing an ounce of his old humor in the newfound, curvalicious form. His high school friends had already started with the teasing. Tits McGhee, Busty Rhonda, Booby Sue, every name under the sun. But being Bro, he just countered with crude jokes about being his own wet dream. Despite the initial awkwardness, the giggles and smirks were the familiar rhythm of camaraderie. One sunny afternoon, in the middle of Coed baseball season, things changed. The pitch sliced through the air, unexpected and off target. And with a resounding 'thump', it found the fleshy mounds prominent on Bro's chest. I sputtered my Gatorade, a belly laugh shaking me, echoing through his buddies. With a grunted, "Ouch," he held the offending breast, rolling his eyes at our laughter. Then, picking the fallen ball with a grin, playfully quipped, "I always knew they'd be the death of me." Then came the game when he dove, aiming for that elusive catch. Somehow, that ball found itself not in his hands, but nestled snugly within the canyon of his sizeable cleavage. There was no rule against that, so the catch was valid! Bro just looked down, let out a laugh. "See that? Prodigal breasts. Got me the out." We all erupted in laughter. Clothing, however, proved to be a hurdle. Bro was an all-star player with Mom's body, but Mom's jeans? A beast entirely different. Our dog wouldn't have struggled as much as he did getting his jeans to fit over Mom's plump glutes. "Damn, Mom, I never knew your ass was so... bountiful!" Bro huffed, successful in his jeans quest. "I hope you're treating that body well. You know she was quite the catch back in her day," I teased, leaning on the doorway. The old Bulldogs t-shirt stretched in interesting ways as he slipped it on. "I'll never look at the Bulldog's mascot the same way again," I added, chuckling. Bro just threw a resigned grin my way, pulling on his jersey. Even though Bell curve mathematics had found a new practical relevance, the broad grin on my brother's face was infectious. He was in a different league now, equipped with Mom's curves and unparalleled spunk. You have to hand it to Bro, he knew how to swing life's strange pitches. So here's to baseball, Bro and the invaluable lessons in adaptability served by the great shift.
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