"In My Mother's Shoes: A Body-Swapping Weekend Escapade"
0 Points
0
"Are you *kidding* me?" I said, trying my best not to spill my coffee as Jim—my 21-year-old son, currently inhabiting Mary’s—my wife’s—body—giggled at his reflection in the bathroom mirror for the fifth time this hour.
"Dad, I can’t help it!" Jim said, still marveling at the unexpected voluptuousness that came with being his own mother. "This... this is just—whoa!"
"Well, get used to it, bud. We have a father-son—uh, father-mother—weekend to survive."
Jim—or as he’s now temporarily known, Mary—put on a pair of sunglasses and studied herself in the mirror, batting long eyelashes exaggeratedly. "You know, I think I'm starting to understand why you fell for Mom."
"Watch it, young... ma’am?" I said, scratching my head. This was getting confusing fast.
We eventually packed up the car and headed to the coast, both of us trying to act like this was just another normal weekend getaway. We pulled up to our first stop, a local dive bar known for its nautical-themed menu.
Jim’s eyes sparkled behind the sunglasses. "Do you think they'll card me?"
"Doubt it, seeing as how you look... well, 45 now."
He sashayed—yes, sashayed—over to the bar. "Hi there!" he chirped at the bartender, leaning on the counter in a way that seemed oddly practiced. "I’ll have a mojito, please."
The bartender, distracted by the unlikely sight before him, nodded absently and whipped up the drink.
"Enjoying yourself?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Absolutely," Jim said with a grin, sipping from the straw. "I think I understand why Mom prefers these girly drinks now. This is *amazing!*"
We found a table outside, where Jim continued to dazzle unsuspecting patrons with his charm.
"Dad, just wait for it," he said, pointing subtly at a guy approaching our table with a couple of colorful cocktails.
"Hey," the guy said, flashing a megawatt smile. "I’ve got extra drinks here—thought you might want one!"
Jim fluttered his lashes—how did he even know how to do that? "Why, thank you!" He then turned to me. "Dad, isn’t this nice of him?"
I nodded, struggling to keep a straight face. "Sure is, Mary."
The guy looked at me, puzzled. "Dad?"
"Yes, Dad," Jim said breezily. "We’re having a father-mother bonding weekend."
The guy blinked a few times, then shrugged, apparently deciding not to question it. "Well, enjoy your drinks!"
As the night went on, Jim—who was by now quite proficient at crossing and uncrossing his legs just right to get more free cocktails—kept up a running commentary. "So, this one guy actually tried to ask for my number. Can you believe it?"
"Be careful with those drinks," I warned as Jim took a particularly large gulp. "We don't know how Mom handles her alcohol."
"Oh, trust me, this body is a lightweight," Jim said, hiccuping for effect.
Later that night, back at our beachfront cabin, Jim stood in front of the mirror again, this time wrestling to get out of a stylish but evidently restrictive dress.
"How does she even breathe in this?" he complained, miming a dramatic faint.
"Priorities, son. Or should I say, ma'am," I laughed, grabbing the zipper to help out.
The next morning, somewhat bleary-eyed but still in surprisingly good spirits, Jim stumbled into the living room. "You know, Dad, aside from the occasional wardrobe malfunction, I’m actually starting to get used to this."
"Just remember," I said, pouring him—her—a cup of coffee, “that applies to both of you. No more basement lab experiments when we’re back."
"And definitely no more swapping body parts with Mom," Jim said, giving me a mock-serious look. "Or at least, not without asking first."
"Deal," I said, clinking my coffee mug against his mojito glass from the night before.
"For the record," Jim added, "next time we’re sticking to something safer. Like fishing."
I nodded in agreement, already envisioning the normalcy of our next trip—hopefully back in our *actual* bodies.
“Until then,” I said, patting Jim on the back. “Enjoy being top-shelf liquor bait."
Jim just grinned and raised his glass. “Cheers to that, Dad. Cheers to that.”
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: "Are you *kidding* me?" I said, trying my best not to spill my coffee as Jim—my 21-year-old son, currently inhabiting Mary’s—my wife’s—body—giggled at his reflection in the bathroom mirror for the fifth time this hour. "Dad, I can’t help it!" Jim said, still marveling at the unexpected voluptuousness that came with being his own mother. "This... this is just—whoa!" "Well, get used to it, bud. We have a father-son—uh, father-mother—weekend to survive." Jim—or as he’s now temporarily known, Mary—put on a pair of sunglasses and studied herself in the mirror, batting long eyelashes exaggeratedly. "You know, I think I'm starting to understand why you fell for Mom." "Watch it, young... ma’am?" I said, scratching my head. This was getting confusing fast. We eventually packed up the car and headed to the coast, both of us trying to act like this was just another normal weekend getaway. We pulled up to our first stop, a local dive bar known for its nautical-themed menu. Jim’s eyes sparkled behind the sunglasses. "Do you think they'll card me?" "Doubt it, seeing as how you look... well, 45 now." He sashayed—yes, sashayed—over to the bar. "Hi there!" he chirped at the bartender, leaning on the counter in a way that seemed oddly practiced. "I’ll have a mojito, please." The bartender, distracted by the unlikely sight before him, nodded absently and whipped up the drink. "Enjoying yourself?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. "Absolutely," Jim said with a grin, sipping from the straw. "I think I understand why Mom prefers these girly drinks now. This is *amazing!*" We found a table outside, where Jim continued to dazzle unsuspecting patrons with his charm. "Dad, just wait for it," he said, pointing subtly at a guy approaching our table with a couple of colorful cocktails. "Hey," the guy said, flashing a megawatt smile. "I’ve got extra drinks here—thought you might want one!" Jim fluttered his lashes—how did he even know how to do that? "Why, thank you!" He then turned to me. "Dad, isn’t this nice of him?" I nodded, struggling to keep a straight face. "Sure is, Mary." The guy looked at me, puzzled. "Dad?" "Yes, Dad," Jim said breezily. "We’re having a father-mother bonding weekend." The guy blinked a few times, then shrugged, apparently deciding not to question it. "Well, enjoy your drinks!" As the night went on, Jim—who was by now quite proficient at crossing and uncrossing his legs just right to get more free cocktails—kept up a running commentary. "So, this one guy actually tried to ask for my number. Can you believe it?" "Be careful with those drinks," I warned as Jim took a particularly large gulp. "We don't know how Mom handles her alcohol." "Oh, trust me, this body is a lightweight," Jim said, hiccuping for effect. Later that night, back at our beachfront cabin, Jim stood in front of the mirror again, this time wrestling to get out of a stylish but evidently restrictive dress. "How does she even breathe in this?" he complained, miming a dramatic faint. "Priorities, son. Or should I say, ma'am," I laughed, grabbing the zipper to help out. The next morning, somewhat bleary-eyed but still in surprisingly good spirits, Jim stumbled into the living room. "You know, Dad, aside from the occasional wardrobe malfunction, I’m actually starting to get used to this." "Just remember," I said, pouring him—her—a cup of coffee, “that applies to both of you. No more basement lab experiments when we’re back." "And definitely no more swapping body parts with Mom," Jim said, giving me a mock-serious look. "Or at least, not without asking first." "Deal," I said, clinking my coffee mug against his mojito glass from the night before. "For the record," Jim added, "next time we’re sticking to something safer. Like fishing." I nodded in agreement, already envisioning the normalcy of our next trip—hopefully back in our *actual* bodies. “Until then,” I said, patting Jim on the back. “Enjoy being top-shelf liquor bait." Jim just grinned and raised his glass. “Cheers to that, Dad. Cheers to that.”
Post your own comment: