Home Run in Heels
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Title: Home Run in Heels
"Outta my way, Sis," Matt hollered, his momentum carrying him down the corridor in our mother's floral summer dress - his current attire since The Great Shift. Wide hips, a generous bust and silky locks of fiery red hair were an odd combination on my brother, but he wore it with an athletes’ grace. The baseball bat swung over one shoulder as he flashed me a wry grin. "Got a game to catch."
That phrase, once told in jest, had taken on a surreal edge these past weeks. The Great Shift had swapped half the population's bodies, and my star-player brother found himself suddenly wearing a Playtex lifted bra instead of Rawlings catcher mitt. Still, he didn't let the oddity hold him back. Matt kept training, morphing mum’s curvy body into a baseball machine.
"Even queen bee scores more home runs than you, Mattie!" Jokes from his old school friends always tossed around when he joined their Coed games. Another more literal joke: when he adopted the new softball nickname, 'Queen Bee', he chose a shirt from Mum’s wardrobe - an enormous yellow bumble bee right on the chest.
"But hey," he'd retort, checking out his warped Wild Card font across his ample chest with a twisted smile. "Bigger target to hit."
His transition into mum’s curvaceous body was challenging yet fascinating to watch. He'd grumble about how overly large breasts seemed like an unnecessary hindrance to physical activity and how tough it was to find pants that could fit over the ridiculously large rear end and wide hips.
He had once tried to catch a fastball with his bust. It led to uproarious laughter from us on the benches, but a bruised boob did nothing to deter his sportsman spirit.
"One of these days," he'd say, a cool ice-pack balanced precariously on his chest, "I'll manage to keep it stuck there."
And he did. A ferocious grounder from some burly guy, and he sprawled to the skittering earth, using the generous cleavage in ways God certainly hadn’t intended. The field froze at the spectacle, doubling over with incredulous laughter. Matt surfaced from the dust with a grin, victoriously holding up the dirt smeared ball.
"Close enough, yeah?"
He ended up being the pitcher after that. Apparently, his throws had a peculiar spin due to the pendulous aspects of his new body. His pitches became a strange, arcing mystery for their rivals to decipher.
Matt was no longer the star player he once was; now, he was a one-woman circus act on the field. There was a melancholic loss underlying the laughter, a nostalgia for the brother who had been destined for a pro-draft. Yet, Matt's unyielding spirit shone through, and, if anything, this ordeal brought us closer.
"Life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass," he'd say, fastening that large bra, struggling to fit into tight exercise pants, knocking the dirt off his cleats, "It's about learning to play ball in the rain."
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: Home Run in Heels "Outta my way, Sis," Matt hollered, his momentum carrying him down the corridor in our mother's floral summer dress - his current attire since The Great Shift. Wide hips, a generous bust and silky locks of fiery red hair were an odd combination on my brother, but he wore it with an athletes’ grace. The baseball bat swung over one shoulder as he flashed me a wry grin. "Got a game to catch." That phrase, once told in jest, had taken on a surreal edge these past weeks. The Great Shift had swapped half the population's bodies, and my star-player brother found himself suddenly wearing a Playtex lifted bra instead of Rawlings catcher mitt. Still, he didn't let the oddity hold him back. Matt kept training, morphing mum’s curvy body into a baseball machine. "Even queen bee scores more home runs than you, Mattie!" Jokes from his old school friends always tossed around when he joined their Coed games. Another more literal joke: when he adopted the new softball nickname, 'Queen Bee', he chose a shirt from Mum’s wardrobe - an enormous yellow bumble bee right on the chest. "But hey," he'd retort, checking out his warped Wild Card font across his ample chest with a twisted smile. "Bigger target to hit." His transition into mum’s curvaceous body was challenging yet fascinating to watch. He'd grumble about how overly large breasts seemed like an unnecessary hindrance to physical activity and how tough it was to find pants that could fit over the ridiculously large rear end and wide hips. He had once tried to catch a fastball with his bust. It led to uproarious laughter from us on the benches, but a bruised boob did nothing to deter his sportsman spirit. "One of these days," he'd say, a cool ice-pack balanced precariously on his chest, "I'll manage to keep it stuck there." And he did. A ferocious grounder from some burly guy, and he sprawled to the skittering earth, using the generous cleavage in ways God certainly hadn’t intended. The field froze at the spectacle, doubling over with incredulous laughter. Matt surfaced from the dust with a grin, victoriously holding up the dirt smeared ball. "Close enough, yeah?" He ended up being the pitcher after that. Apparently, his throws had a peculiar spin due to the pendulous aspects of his new body. His pitches became a strange, arcing mystery for their rivals to decipher. Matt was no longer the star player he once was; now, he was a one-woman circus act on the field. There was a melancholic loss underlying the laughter, a nostalgia for the brother who had been destined for a pro-draft. Yet, Matt's unyielding spirit shone through, and, if anything, this ordeal brought us closer. "Life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass," he'd say, fastening that large bra, struggling to fit into tight exercise pants, knocking the dirt off his cleats, "It's about learning to play ball in the rain."
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