"Play Ball, Mama!"
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Title: "Play Ball, Mama!"
Growing up, baseball ran thick in the veins of me and my younger brother, Richie. It wasn't just a game to us, it was a religion, and our shrine was the battered old diamond in the heart of town touching our souls like no church ever could.
Richie was a prodigy, a baseball wizard, while I could barely get the ball past the pitcher's mound. He was practically being scouted right out of diapers, and whispers about the pros buzzed around him in college. He was going places – until the Great Shift happened.
One moment Richie was brushing his pearly, sporting stud teeth, the next, he was admiring a set of mom's flawless red manicure and an unexpected pair of busty assets in the mirror reflection. The Great Shift had swapped him into mom's curvy body while she had headed off to Bingo in Richie's athletic form.
Richie took it on the chin initially. His dreams of playing professional baseball now seemed as distant as the far end of the bullpen. But I'll be damned if he wasn't my brother through and through. He shrugged it off and tightened his – well, Mom's – ponytail, for the softball season.
"Sure, I can run from bingo to the buffet table now," Mom – or I guess, Richie – jested, patting her nipped-in waist and flexing newly slender arms. "But let's get this old girl into fighting trim."
Together we ran laps down at that old diamond, and sun-ups saw him working mom's body into shape, his prodigious talent coming to fore even underneath layers of delicious home-baked apple pies. Man, I didn't know Mom was in such good shape.
But there were some inherent challenges, obviously. His usual 'Bulldogs' jersey sat a tad awkward across his new frame. The chestiness warping the bold letters into strange, comical forms.
"B-u-y-l-l-o-o-g-s," I squinted at it one day. "Buy? Llogs?"
"Shut up," he smirked, throwing a ball at my head, which, in true clumsy me fashion, I failed to duck, "It's 'Bulldogs', you moron."
It took a while for Richie – or Mom, I guess – to adjust to the new additions to his anatomy. Every now and then he’d jog into second base only to bounce $%%@-first into his own surprised face.
But Richie, true to his never-give-up spirit, soon got the hang of manoeuvring his new body on the field. He was still as formidable on the diamond, even in a body that more often baked cookies than dented home runs.
Life had pitched a curveball at my little brother, but as always, Richie was ready in the batter's box, waiting to knock it out of the park.
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 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 softball season. 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.
Response: Title: "Play Ball, Mama!" Growing up, baseball ran thick in the veins of me and my younger brother, Richie. It wasn't just a game to us, it was a religion, and our shrine was the battered old diamond in the heart of town touching our souls like no church ever could. Richie was a prodigy, a baseball wizard, while I could barely get the ball past the pitcher's mound. He was practically being scouted right out of diapers, and whispers about the pros buzzed around him in college. He was going places – until the Great Shift happened. One moment Richie was brushing his pearly, sporting stud teeth, the next, he was admiring a set of mom's flawless red manicure and an unexpected pair of busty assets in the mirror reflection. The Great Shift had swapped him into mom's curvy body while she had headed off to Bingo in Richie's athletic form. Richie took it on the chin initially. His dreams of playing professional baseball now seemed as distant as the far end of the bullpen. But I'll be damned if he wasn't my brother through and through. He shrugged it off and tightened his – well, Mom's – ponytail, for the softball season. "Sure, I can run from bingo to the buffet table now," Mom – or I guess, Richie – jested, patting her nipped-in waist and flexing newly slender arms. "But let's get this old girl into fighting trim." Together we ran laps down at that old diamond, and sun-ups saw him working mom's body into shape, his prodigious talent coming to fore even underneath layers of delicious home-baked apple pies. Man, I didn't know Mom was in such good shape. But there were some inherent challenges, obviously. His usual 'Bulldogs' jersey sat a tad awkward across his new frame. The chestiness warping the bold letters into strange, comical forms. "B-u-y-l-l-o-o-g-s," I squinted at it one day. "Buy? Llogs?" "Shut up," he smirked, throwing a ball at my head, which, in true clumsy me fashion, I failed to duck, "It's 'Bulldogs', you moron." It took a while for Richie – or Mom, I guess – to adjust to the new additions to his anatomy. Every now and then he’d jog into second base only to bounce $%%@-first into his own surprised face. But Richie, true to his never-give-up spirit, soon got the hang of manoeuvring his new body on the field. He was still as formidable on the diamond, even in a body that more often baked cookies than dented home runs. Life had pitched a curveball at my little brother, but as always, Richie was ready in the batter's box, waiting to knock it out of the park.
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