"High Heels and Hijinks: The Unconventional Secretary Saga"
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"Ah, c'mon, Tommy, I swear if this bra pinches me one more time, I'm gonna snap! These things are freakin' torture devices, I tell ya," Jesse grumbled, adjusting the straps under his blouse. This morning he decided to rock a tight green top with a neckline that left little to the imagination. His blonde curls bounced around his shoulders with every exaggerated gesture.
"Look, I get it, man—uh, girl? Argh! Whatever. But can you please stop readjusting yourself in front of my desk? Dave is already having a field day staring at you," I chuckled, trying to focus on my spreadsheet without thinking too hard about the surreal absurdity of my best friend now having the hottest curves in the office.
"Yeah, well, I don't see you complainin' when I bring ya that coffee, huh? You owe me somethin' better than this crappy gig, Tommy. I miss my ol' job, man. I was the best darn mechanic west of the East River," he said, leaning over my desk dramatically, which, by the way, caused every eye in the office to dart our way.
"Look, Jesse, you're killin’ it as my secretary. Plus, ain't it a teeny bit fun bein' the hottest thing since sliced bread?" I smirked, knowing he'd take the bait.
His eyes twinkled mischievously as he stood up straight, hand on his hip. "It ain't all bad, I suppose. The tips were crazy when I filled in as a waitress at Hooters last weekend, but come on! I still got my pride, ya know?" He flicked a hair out of his eyes, the action oddly graceful for someone who used to oil gears for a living.
"Alright, alright. I'll buy dinner tonight at your favorite dive if you make it through another day of Dave's staring without throat-punching him," I offered, trying to keep things light.
"Ah, you know how to treat a lady, don'cha, Tommy?" he teased, winking. "Deal. But only if you come clean and admit you been thinkin' about askin' me out. I ain't blind, ya goof."
"Wait, what?" I felt my face heat up, and I was sure I looked like a ripe tomato. "How'd you know?"
"Please, I may look like I'm auditionin' for The Real Housewives of Brooklyn, but I still got my smarts. We goin’ to Jerry's Bar, then? None of that fancy-schmancy stuff. A burger, some beers, and maybe—just maybe—a game of pool if I ain't too busy fendin' off the dudes. Sounds good?"
"Sounds perfect, Jesse," I nodded, half relieved and half excited. "Are those—uh—you mean you're wearing those short booty shorts?"
Jesse gave a theatrical spin, his blonde hair swishing around. "Darn right. If I'm gonna be ogled, I'll make 'em work for it. Now, where's that typing test you wanted me to do? Let’s see if these nails are any good for somethin'."
And with that, the hottest and most delightful disaster of a secretary sashayed back to his desk, leaving me grinning like an idiot. Tonight was going to be one for the books.
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 from my friends perspective with dialogue where After the great shift which was an event that swapped 75 percent of the countries bodies my buddy had lost his job. He was an auto mechanic and his boss didn’t think he could do it anymore since he was now in the body of a Hooters waitress from Brooklyn with a huge rack and a curvy blonde body he also kept her accent. I let him stay with me and I also got him a job as my secretary for the time being. There’s no doubt he’s now the hottest in the office. The best part is he is still his old goofy wisecracking self but just in a far sexier body He also still has knowledge about sports which is great to talk about at work with him. Today he was complaining about his bra pinching and the fact that Dave one of my coworkers wouldn't stop checking him out. I'm thinking about asking him out on a date tonight, I hope he says yes when he does he picks out a green low cut top and some short booty shorts for the night he wanted to go to hid favorite bar for the date he doesn't want to go somewhere to fancy that ain't his style. Write my friends Dialogue with a Brooklyn accent
Response: "Ah, c'mon, Tommy, I swear if this bra pinches me one more time, I'm gonna snap! These things are freakin' torture devices, I tell ya," Jesse grumbled, adjusting the straps under his blouse. This morning he decided to rock a tight green top with a neckline that left little to the imagination. His blonde curls bounced around his shoulders with every exaggerated gesture. "Look, I get it, man—uh, girl? Argh! Whatever. But can you please stop readjusting yourself in front of my desk? Dave is already having a field day staring at you," I chuckled, trying to focus on my spreadsheet without thinking too hard about the surreal absurdity of my best friend now having the hottest curves in the office. "Yeah, well, I don't see you complainin' when I bring ya that coffee, huh? You owe me somethin' better than this crappy gig, Tommy. I miss my ol' job, man. I was the best darn mechanic west of the East River," he said, leaning over my desk dramatically, which, by the way, caused every eye in the office to dart our way. "Look, Jesse, you're killin’ it as my secretary. Plus, ain't it a teeny bit fun bein' the hottest thing since sliced bread?" I smirked, knowing he'd take the bait. His eyes twinkled mischievously as he stood up straight, hand on his hip. "It ain't all bad, I suppose. The tips were crazy when I filled in as a waitress at Hooters last weekend, but come on! I still got my pride, ya know?" He flicked a hair out of his eyes, the action oddly graceful for someone who used to oil gears for a living. "Alright, alright. I'll buy dinner tonight at your favorite dive if you make it through another day of Dave's staring without throat-punching him," I offered, trying to keep things light. "Ah, you know how to treat a lady, don'cha, Tommy?" he teased, winking. "Deal. But only if you come clean and admit you been thinkin' about askin' me out. I ain't blind, ya goof." "Wait, what?" I felt my face heat up, and I was sure I looked like a ripe tomato. "How'd you know?" "Please, I may look like I'm auditionin' for The Real Housewives of Brooklyn, but I still got my smarts. We goin’ to Jerry's Bar, then? None of that fancy-schmancy stuff. A burger, some beers, and maybe—just maybe—a game of pool if I ain't too busy fendin' off the dudes. Sounds good?" "Sounds perfect, Jesse," I nodded, half relieved and half excited. "Are those—uh—you mean you're wearing those short booty shorts?" Jesse gave a theatrical spin, his blonde hair swishing around. "Darn right. If I'm gonna be ogled, I'll make 'em work for it. Now, where's that typing test you wanted me to do? Let’s see if these nails are any good for somethin'." And with that, the hottest and most delightful disaster of a secretary sashayed back to his desk, leaving me grinning like an idiot. Tonight was going to be one for the books.
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