"FitSwap Fiasco: Living La Vida Loca in Mrs. Corbin's Body"
0 Points
0
From the moment I swapped into Mrs. Corbin’s body, I knew life was about to get interesting. I mean, come on! How often does a guy get to live out his teenage crush fantasies by literally becoming the object of them?
Of course, I had to keep up appearances, so I dutifully followed the FitSwap guidelines. Work out in the client’s body, don’t do anything creepy, and make sure they have a healthier physique by the end of the swap. Seemed easy enough. But when I found out my client was Steve's mom, Mrs. Corbin, all bets were off.
I set up in front of the bathroom mirror, marvelling at how my – er, her – red hair shimmered under the fluorescent light. My eyes drifted down and then immediately shot back up. Focus, Mike! The first rule of FitSwap is to respect the client's body. Still, the temptation was there, and I couldn’t help but smirk a little.
My initial excitement took a backseat when I realized there were some less-than-glamorous tasks ahead. FitSwap required that I maintain not just the workout regimen but also handle a few household chores to make sure life stayed normal for the client's family. I sighed, picking up the vacuum from the closet.
“You can do this, Mike,” I reassured myself, squeezing the vacuum handle a little tighter than necessary. Starting in the living room, I flipped the vacuum on and began making slow, deliberate lines across the carpet. As I moved, I started humming a tune that always got stuck in my head back in college: "Livin’ La Vida Loca" by Ricky Martin.
Suddenly, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the TV screen. Mrs. Corbin’s voluptuous figure swayed as I pushed the vacuum back and forth. I bit my lip, trying not to giggle. This was just too surreal.
Steve walked in without knocking, his eyes nearly popping out of his head. “Uh, Mom? You okay?” His eyes darted around the room like he was looking for hidden cameras. Who vacuums to Ricky Martin, anyhow?
“Oh, just peachy, Steve!” I said, trying to match Mrs. Corbin's voice and vaguely Southern demeanor – which, admittedly, was not my strongest suite. “Just felt like sprucing up a bit and, well, you know how it is, gotta stay active!”
He gave me a suspicious look but shrugged it off. “Right…”
The next day, after another round of rigorous cardio and some weight training to keep up with FitSwap’s expectations, I decided to tackle cooking dinner. It started off well enough, but halfway through chopping vegetables, a rogue carrot flew out of my hand and landed somewhere under the fridge. I groaned. Cooking was never my strong suit even in my own body.
“Mom, what’s for dinner?” Steve asked as he wandered into the kitchen.
“Carrot surprise,” I said, half-jokingly, not entirely sure Mrs. Corbin’s voice quite carried off the sarcasm.
Steve raised an eyebrow. “You usually nail the sarcasm a bit better.”
“Just tired, dear. Chopping veggies is harder than it looks!" I stifled a laugh and went back to my task.
By the third day, I was starting to get a little too comfortable in Mrs. Corbin's body. I even tried out some push-ups in front of the hallway mirror, just to see how her arms extended and retracted. And let's be real, who wouldn’t shake a protein shake just to watch the chest jiggle a bit?
But the fun had to come to an end when I discovered laundry duty. There’s something immensely humbling about folding clothes that aren't yours – and really, of all things, Mrs. Corbin's... unmentionables. Red in the face, I soldiered on.
By then, Steve had noticed something was up. “Mom, why do you keep humming 'Livin’ La Vida Loca'?”
Crap. “Oh, you know... just came on the radio and got stuck in my head,” I stammered, trying to regain Mrs. Corbin's genteel composure.
“Right…” Steve looked unconvinced but didn’t press further.
The FitSwap period ended just as I was getting the hang of things. Mrs. Corbin would wake up in her toned, revitalized body, and my part in the charade would head back to my own rather plain reality.
As I left her body, I couldn’t help but feel a bit nostalgic. “It’s been real, Mrs. Corbin’s arteries. We’ve done good work here.”
And as I returned to my own body, prone to its own awkwardness and lack of curves, I knew one thing for certain: I’d never look at household chores the same way again. Also, my next crush had better not involve vacuuming.
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 My best friend worked for this new company called FitSwap it was a company that could swap your body with a personal trainer to workout your body for you. What I didn’t know was my mom had signed up and requested my friend to swap with her. Now my friend was in her busty redheaded body having the time of his life. My friend had always had a crush on my mom and now he had full access to her body. He is having a lot of fun though. He laughs as he shakes his protein shake loving how it makes his boobs jiggle. He also has to take over some of her house duties to though which he dreads, like vacuuming and cooking and doing the laundry. I didn't even know he was in there for a couple of days until I heard mom vacuuming and singing a song she would never know in a million years that my friend loves to sing. write the story from my friends perspective in my moms body.
Response: From the moment I swapped into Mrs. Corbin’s body, I knew life was about to get interesting. I mean, come on! How often does a guy get to live out his teenage crush fantasies by literally becoming the object of them? Of course, I had to keep up appearances, so I dutifully followed the FitSwap guidelines. Work out in the client’s body, don’t do anything creepy, and make sure they have a healthier physique by the end of the swap. Seemed easy enough. But when I found out my client was Steve's mom, Mrs. Corbin, all bets were off. I set up in front of the bathroom mirror, marvelling at how my – er, her – red hair shimmered under the fluorescent light. My eyes drifted down and then immediately shot back up. Focus, Mike! The first rule of FitSwap is to respect the client's body. Still, the temptation was there, and I couldn’t help but smirk a little. My initial excitement took a backseat when I realized there were some less-than-glamorous tasks ahead. FitSwap required that I maintain not just the workout regimen but also handle a few household chores to make sure life stayed normal for the client's family. I sighed, picking up the vacuum from the closet. “You can do this, Mike,” I reassured myself, squeezing the vacuum handle a little tighter than necessary. Starting in the living room, I flipped the vacuum on and began making slow, deliberate lines across the carpet. As I moved, I started humming a tune that always got stuck in my head back in college: "Livin’ La Vida Loca" by Ricky Martin. Suddenly, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the TV screen. Mrs. Corbin’s voluptuous figure swayed as I pushed the vacuum back and forth. I bit my lip, trying not to giggle. This was just too surreal. Steve walked in without knocking, his eyes nearly popping out of his head. “Uh, Mom? You okay?” His eyes darted around the room like he was looking for hidden cameras. Who vacuums to Ricky Martin, anyhow? “Oh, just peachy, Steve!” I said, trying to match Mrs. Corbin's voice and vaguely Southern demeanor – which, admittedly, was not my strongest suite. “Just felt like sprucing up a bit and, well, you know how it is, gotta stay active!” He gave me a suspicious look but shrugged it off. “Right…” The next day, after another round of rigorous cardio and some weight training to keep up with FitSwap’s expectations, I decided to tackle cooking dinner. It started off well enough, but halfway through chopping vegetables, a rogue carrot flew out of my hand and landed somewhere under the fridge. I groaned. Cooking was never my strong suit even in my own body. “Mom, what’s for dinner?” Steve asked as he wandered into the kitchen. “Carrot surprise,” I said, half-jokingly, not entirely sure Mrs. Corbin’s voice quite carried off the sarcasm. Steve raised an eyebrow. “You usually nail the sarcasm a bit better.” “Just tired, dear. Chopping veggies is harder than it looks!" I stifled a laugh and went back to my task. By the third day, I was starting to get a little too comfortable in Mrs. Corbin's body. I even tried out some push-ups in front of the hallway mirror, just to see how her arms extended and retracted. And let's be real, who wouldn’t shake a protein shake just to watch the chest jiggle a bit? But the fun had to come to an end when I discovered laundry duty. There’s something immensely humbling about folding clothes that aren't yours – and really, of all things, Mrs. Corbin's... unmentionables. Red in the face, I soldiered on. By then, Steve had noticed something was up. “Mom, why do you keep humming 'Livin’ La Vida Loca'?” Crap. “Oh, you know... just came on the radio and got stuck in my head,” I stammered, trying to regain Mrs. Corbin's genteel composure. “Right…” Steve looked unconvinced but didn’t press further. The FitSwap period ended just as I was getting the hang of things. Mrs. Corbin would wake up in her toned, revitalized body, and my part in the charade would head back to my own rather plain reality. As I left her body, I couldn’t help but feel a bit nostalgic. “It’s been real, Mrs. Corbin’s arteries. We’ve done good work here.” And as I returned to my own body, prone to its own awkwardness and lack of curves, I knew one thing for certain: I’d never look at household chores the same way again. Also, my next crush had better not involve vacuuming.
Post your own comment: