"Gender Swap Shenanigans at Le Fancy Bistro"
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"Stop looking at them!" I hissed under my breath as I watched my buddy, Larry, well, technically my wife in Larry’s body, gawk at his own ample cleavage.
"But Jim," said my wife’s sultry voice, now laced with Larry’s goofy intonation, "it's just so... mesmerizing."
"Please, for the love of all that's normal," I said, "we have to get through this dinner without drawing attention."
My wife-in-Larry’s-body groaned and bounced on the balls of his feet again. His boobs jiggled freely in that flowery nightie, and Larry, the biggest goofball I knew, grinned like it was the best amusement park ride he'd ever been on.
"Quit that!" my wife’s voice snapped. Oh wait, that was my wife talking, just from inside Larry's stubby frame. Confusing, right?
"I can't believe I have to wear a dress," Larry—in my wife’s body—muttered, hands still clinging to her purse.
"You think that's bad?" my wife said, flexing Larry’s hairy knuckles. "Try dealing with this caveman physique over here."
"Hey, that's my best bud you're talking about," I said, then immediately regretted it. I really was in a fix, defending my body-switched buddy from my own wife.
We stumbled into Le Fancy Bistro—well, it wasn't really fancy, they just liked to think they were—knowing full well this would be the awkwardest dinner of our lives. Heads turned, eyes widened, but the maître d' led us to our usual table.
"So, uh," I started, trying to break the ice, "how's everyone feeling?"
Larry grinned. "Warm and cushiony."
My wife facepalmed with Larry's rough hand.
The enthusiastic waitress swung by, smile faltering just a touch when facing Larry, in all her bewitching female glory. “What can I get you tonight?”
Larry smoothed the skirt and batted his long eyelashes. "I'll have the steak, medium rare," he said, then returned to the bounce-test. "And maybe something to, you know..." He wiggled his shoulders, making his boobs jiggle. “...fill this out more.”
The waitress blinked twice, her smile faltered. “Excuse me, what?”
“Calm down, Lar—er, darling,” I said, giving him the look.
Larry pursed his lips and made a valiant attempt to look demure, but failed miserably. However, the jiggle test wiggled us straight into the land of more chuckles and hidden giggles from nearby tables.
The steak arrived, and Larry dug in like a lumberjack with my wife’s perfectly manicured nails. The bubble of weirdness burst when he belched louder than a Harley Davidson at a drag meet.
“Nice rack," Larry’s voice boomed, eying the waitress who had just delivered his meal. "Must be tough carrying those around all day, huh?” He looked down. "I feel you, girl."
The entire restaurant went silent, well, except for the sound of me facepalming so hard my ancestors felt it.
"Larry!" I whisper-shouted, somehow managing to make my voice both angry and pleading, which is a tricky balance to strike.
Larry just shrugged, managed to flip his hair a little, and then took a sip of wine, which he promptly spit out all over the table. “Whoa, I think we hit the fancy hooch tonight!”
The evening continued in much the same fashion; Larry made increasingly inappropriate comments, my wife made increasingly dramatic sighs, and I just tried to crawl under the table every few minutes.
When we finally, finally managed to make it out of there, I thought it couldn’t get worse. Until Larry, trying to navigate the high heels, tripped and fell into the bushes outside the restaurant. His legs kicked in the air, exposed and unladylike, and passersby stopped to ogle the scene.
“I think… we need to switch you guys back,” I muttered.
Larry, dusting himself off and adjusting the dress, grinned like a kid in a candy store. "Not before I try on some more outfits."
My wife, using Larry’s arm to rub the sore spot on the back of her borrowed head, looked at me with all the seriousness she could muster. “If he gets his own Pinterest board, I swear, you'll be handling the brain-switcher next.”
And that was the day I learned two things: one, you can never truly hide a brain-swapping machine from an overly curious best friend; and two, maybe some secrets are better kept not just hidden, but dismantled and buried in the backyard. Along with the flower nightie.
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 things can get really awkward when you invent a brain switching machine. I thought I had kept it pretty well hidden, but unfortunately my buddy found it. He accidentally bumped into it causing a brain swap between him and my wife who was wearing her flowery nightie at the time which showed off her large and generous cleavage. He was freaking out at first but I think he enjoys it now, He keeps looking down his dress to get a view of his new giant chest with its incredible cleavage. He has even bounces on the balls of his feet a few times to feel his new boobs bounce. Now we have to head out for dinner he grabs my wife's purse and My wife forces him to put on a nice dress and we head for our dinner reservations. Everyone at the restaurant looks shocked when this prim and proper looking lady sounds like a middle aged man, he comments on the waitresses rack even though his own rack might be a cup size or two bigger and he even belches loudly after eating his steak.
Response: "Stop looking at them!" I hissed under my breath as I watched my buddy, Larry, well, technically my wife in Larry’s body, gawk at his own ample cleavage. "But Jim," said my wife’s sultry voice, now laced with Larry’s goofy intonation, "it's just so... mesmerizing." "Please, for the love of all that's normal," I said, "we have to get through this dinner without drawing attention." My wife-in-Larry’s-body groaned and bounced on the balls of his feet again. His boobs jiggled freely in that flowery nightie, and Larry, the biggest goofball I knew, grinned like it was the best amusement park ride he'd ever been on. "Quit that!" my wife’s voice snapped. Oh wait, that was my wife talking, just from inside Larry's stubby frame. Confusing, right? "I can't believe I have to wear a dress," Larry—in my wife’s body—muttered, hands still clinging to her purse. "You think that's bad?" my wife said, flexing Larry’s hairy knuckles. "Try dealing with this caveman physique over here." "Hey, that's my best bud you're talking about," I said, then immediately regretted it. I really was in a fix, defending my body-switched buddy from my own wife. We stumbled into Le Fancy Bistro—well, it wasn't really fancy, they just liked to think they were—knowing full well this would be the awkwardest dinner of our lives. Heads turned, eyes widened, but the maître d' led us to our usual table. "So, uh," I started, trying to break the ice, "how's everyone feeling?" Larry grinned. "Warm and cushiony." My wife facepalmed with Larry's rough hand. The enthusiastic waitress swung by, smile faltering just a touch when facing Larry, in all her bewitching female glory. “What can I get you tonight?” Larry smoothed the skirt and batted his long eyelashes. "I'll have the steak, medium rare," he said, then returned to the bounce-test. "And maybe something to, you know..." He wiggled his shoulders, making his boobs jiggle. “...fill this out more.” The waitress blinked twice, her smile faltered. “Excuse me, what?” “Calm down, Lar—er, darling,” I said, giving him the look. Larry pursed his lips and made a valiant attempt to look demure, but failed miserably. However, the jiggle test wiggled us straight into the land of more chuckles and hidden giggles from nearby tables. The steak arrived, and Larry dug in like a lumberjack with my wife’s perfectly manicured nails. The bubble of weirdness burst when he belched louder than a Harley Davidson at a drag meet. “Nice rack," Larry’s voice boomed, eying the waitress who had just delivered his meal. "Must be tough carrying those around all day, huh?” He looked down. "I feel you, girl." The entire restaurant went silent, well, except for the sound of me facepalming so hard my ancestors felt it. "Larry!" I whisper-shouted, somehow managing to make my voice both angry and pleading, which is a tricky balance to strike. Larry just shrugged, managed to flip his hair a little, and then took a sip of wine, which he promptly spit out all over the table. “Whoa, I think we hit the fancy hooch tonight!” The evening continued in much the same fashion; Larry made increasingly inappropriate comments, my wife made increasingly dramatic sighs, and I just tried to crawl under the table every few minutes. When we finally, finally managed to make it out of there, I thought it couldn’t get worse. Until Larry, trying to navigate the high heels, tripped and fell into the bushes outside the restaurant. His legs kicked in the air, exposed and unladylike, and passersby stopped to ogle the scene. “I think… we need to switch you guys back,” I muttered. Larry, dusting himself off and adjusting the dress, grinned like a kid in a candy store. "Not before I try on some more outfits." My wife, using Larry’s arm to rub the sore spot on the back of her borrowed head, looked at me with all the seriousness she could muster. “If he gets his own Pinterest board, I swear, you'll be handling the brain-switcher next.” And that was the day I learned two things: one, you can never truly hide a brain-swapping machine from an overly curious best friend; and two, maybe some secrets are better kept not just hidden, but dismantled and buried in the backyard. Along with the flower nightie.
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