**"Fatherson: A Bodacious Birthday Bash"**
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"Okay, son, I mean, um... darling? Ready to hit the road?" I asked, giving the side-eye to my wife who wasn't really my wife but our 21-year-old son, Tyler.
Tyler, inside the buxom frame of my spouse, Gina, turned around with those big blue eyes of hers—erm, his—and sighed. "Dad, just call me Tyler. This is confusing enough without you getting all weird on me."
"Right, right. Tyler it is," I said, throwing the last bag into the trunk. "Just remember, if some guy hits on you, pretend you're a feminist literature professor or something. They tend to back off pretty quickly."
"Or, I could just say 'I'm married,'” Tyler shot back, winking. "Even have the ring to prove it." He wiggled his fingers, showcasing the diamond-studded wedding band.
**"Point taken, Professor. Let's get this show on the road before I need to shave again,"** I replied, chuckling as I slid into the driver's seat.
As we cruised toward the coast, I couldn't help but glance at my newly transformed son, who was inspecting his beautifully manicured nails. "What's the toughest part so far?" I asked.
"Well, the high heels are murder," Tyler admitted, scratching his head absentmindedly, which made his—well, Gina's—hair fluff into an elegant swirl. "Plus, people give you free drinks if you show cleavage. Can’t believe mom’s been holding out on this hack!"
"I guess that's a win-win," I laughed. "But don't go cleaning out some poor schmuck's wallet for beer money, alright?"
"Oh come on, Dad, **I'm not heartless!,**” Tyler said. He then began twiddling with the car's seat adjuster, trying to find a comfortable setting for his newfound... assets.
About an hour into our trip, we pulled into a gas station. Tyler decided it was time for a restroom break. As he strutted towards the facilities—still awkwardly getting the hang of walking in Gina’s body—a young, overly enthusiastic gas station attendant approached and offered some unsolicited assistance.
"Ma'am, can I help you with anything?" he asked, his eyes not quite making it to Tyler’s face.
Tyler glanced at me, taking it as a challenge. "Sure can, sweetheart," he said, batting Gina’s eyelashes. "Can you point me to the coffee, and maybe throw in an extra creamer?"
The attendant, obviously flustered, stammered, "R-right away, ma’am. The coffee station is by the restrooms."
"Ah, perfect. Two birds with one stone," Tyler chirped, giving the poor kid a wink.
Returning to the car, Tyler handed me the coffee with an arrogant smirk. "You see that, Dad? Didn’t even have to flash the ring!"
Laughing, I replied, "Well, there's still the drive-thru. You're handling this body-swap like a champ though, I'll give you that."
As we continued driving, Tyler started scrolling through my 'Dad rock' playlist and made a face. "Do you ever listen to music made in this century, or is your criteria that the lead singer must have chest hair?"
"Hey, these are classics!" I retorted. "Besides, inside that bodacious body of yours is a person who was raised on these tunes."
Tyler sighed dramatically, crossing Gina’s arms. "Fine. But I’m switching to podcasts the moment you start air-guitaring 'Bohemian Rhapsody'."
Hours later, we reached our seaside cabin. Tyler stepped out, stretching in ways that made me wish I hadn't seen it. "Ah, the salty air. Kind of smells like fish and broken dreams."
I chuckled. "You never let up, do you?"
"Why stop now?" He shrugged, Gina’s ample shoulders rising and falling. "But seriously, thanks for still taking me out. This is one 21st birthday I'll never forget."
"Neither will I," I agreed, pulling him into a hug. Or rather, I tried to, but those new curves made it a little awkward. "Happy birthday, son... er, darling?"
"Just Tyler, Dad," he laughed. "It's still just Tyler."
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 lots of dialogue where My wife had planned a father son trip for my sons 21st birthday. We were going to head out to the coast. That all changed after my son was worked on an experiment that exploded and swapped his and his moms bodies. Now he’s going on the trip as his own busty mother. Thank god he has handled it well, he still makes his normal funny jokes and he's been using his mothers body to get tons of free drinks. I laugh whenever I see him look in a mirror he always looks shocked with nis newfound curves. I guess he never realized just how curvaceous and beautiful his own mother was.
Response: "Okay, son, I mean, um... darling? Ready to hit the road?" I asked, giving the side-eye to my wife who wasn't really my wife but our 21-year-old son, Tyler. Tyler, inside the buxom frame of my spouse, Gina, turned around with those big blue eyes of hers—erm, his—and sighed. "Dad, just call me Tyler. This is confusing enough without you getting all weird on me." "Right, right. Tyler it is," I said, throwing the last bag into the trunk. "Just remember, if some guy hits on you, pretend you're a feminist literature professor or something. They tend to back off pretty quickly." "Or, I could just say 'I'm married,'” Tyler shot back, winking. "Even have the ring to prove it." He wiggled his fingers, showcasing the diamond-studded wedding band. **"Point taken, Professor. Let's get this show on the road before I need to shave again,"** I replied, chuckling as I slid into the driver's seat. As we cruised toward the coast, I couldn't help but glance at my newly transformed son, who was inspecting his beautifully manicured nails. "What's the toughest part so far?" I asked. "Well, the high heels are murder," Tyler admitted, scratching his head absentmindedly, which made his—well, Gina's—hair fluff into an elegant swirl. "Plus, people give you free drinks if you show cleavage. Can’t believe mom’s been holding out on this hack!" "I guess that's a win-win," I laughed. "But don't go cleaning out some poor schmuck's wallet for beer money, alright?" "Oh come on, Dad, **I'm not heartless!,**” Tyler said. He then began twiddling with the car's seat adjuster, trying to find a comfortable setting for his newfound... assets. About an hour into our trip, we pulled into a gas station. Tyler decided it was time for a restroom break. As he strutted towards the facilities—still awkwardly getting the hang of walking in Gina’s body—a young, overly enthusiastic gas station attendant approached and offered some unsolicited assistance. "Ma'am, can I help you with anything?" he asked, his eyes not quite making it to Tyler’s face. Tyler glanced at me, taking it as a challenge. "Sure can, sweetheart," he said, batting Gina’s eyelashes. "Can you point me to the coffee, and maybe throw in an extra creamer?" The attendant, obviously flustered, stammered, "R-right away, ma’am. The coffee station is by the restrooms." "Ah, perfect. Two birds with one stone," Tyler chirped, giving the poor kid a wink. Returning to the car, Tyler handed me the coffee with an arrogant smirk. "You see that, Dad? Didn’t even have to flash the ring!" Laughing, I replied, "Well, there's still the drive-thru. You're handling this body-swap like a champ though, I'll give you that." As we continued driving, Tyler started scrolling through my 'Dad rock' playlist and made a face. "Do you ever listen to music made in this century, or is your criteria that the lead singer must have chest hair?" "Hey, these are classics!" I retorted. "Besides, inside that bodacious body of yours is a person who was raised on these tunes." Tyler sighed dramatically, crossing Gina’s arms. "Fine. But I’m switching to podcasts the moment you start air-guitaring 'Bohemian Rhapsody'." Hours later, we reached our seaside cabin. Tyler stepped out, stretching in ways that made me wish I hadn't seen it. "Ah, the salty air. Kind of smells like fish and broken dreams." I chuckled. "You never let up, do you?" "Why stop now?" He shrugged, Gina’s ample shoulders rising and falling. "But seriously, thanks for still taking me out. This is one 21st birthday I'll never forget." "Neither will I," I agreed, pulling him into a hug. Or rather, I tried to, but those new curves made it a little awkward. "Happy birthday, son... er, darling?" "Just Tyler, Dad," he laughed. "It's still just Tyler."
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