Swapping Sides: From Macho Dave to Fashion-Forward Daisy
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Believe it or not, this incredibly vivacious and curvaceous woman sitting beside me is none other than my very macho and masculine friend Dave. Or, as I guess the correct word should be, *was* my very macho and masculine friend Dave. You see, Dave was one of the victims of the great Swap Bomb Incident of 2023. Yep, you heard that right. Someone in a lab somewhere took the concept of “picking brains” to a whole new, horrifying, and yet somewhat amusing level.
Dave, the highly respected soldier with biceps that could bench-press a bear, my best friend for years, had his life literally turned upside down. One minute he was Captain America’s stunt double, and the next, he had swapped his dog tags for some seriously stylish stilettos.
Now, don’t get ahead of yourself. Dave—er, Daisy, as she insists on being called now—is still mostly the same person. She still loves a good beer, still nails the high score on all the arcade shooting games, and can still school me at poker. You can take the soldier out of the field but, apparently, you can’t take the field out of the soldier. She’s just way more fashion-forward now—and has a makeup collection that would make Sephora blush.
So here I am, finally finding the courage to ask her out. You can imagine my nerves, right? It’s like asking out The Rock, if The Rock suddenly had Gisele Bündchen's looks and a wardrobe rivaling Carrie Bradshaw’s.
We’re on our first date at a fancy restaurant, the kind with tablecloths that you’re afraid to spill on. Daisy looks stunning in a dress that, funny enough, she used to lovingly mock women for wearing. 'Functional over frills,' he said—until frills hugged his curves like a lover.
And then, there’s her impressive rack. Seriously, it’s like her chest declared war on gravity and won by a landslide. I can't stop staring. I try the ol’ “look into my eyes” trick, but my eyes are like stubborn tourists with a one-track GPS leading straight to Bust-town.
She notices, of course. With a smirk and a sip of her wine, she calls me out. “Enjoying the view, buddy?”
Caught, I stammer, blushing harder than a schoolgirl at a Justin Bieber concert. “I uh… yes. I mean no. I mean, yes—”
“Yes?” she arches a perfect eyebrow. Dave never had perfect eyebrows; those caterpillars always seemed ready to declare independence from his face. Now they’re like synchronized swimmers, elegantly framing her judging gaze.
Look, don’t get me wrong. Hanging out with her is still amazing. We play Call of Duty just like old times, except now she critiques my poor choice of grenades while applying eyeliner. Conversations are the same—just sprinkled with occasional debates over the right shade of nude lipstick (I still don’t get it, Daisy).
“Relax,” Daisy laughs, a melodic sound that never fails to disarm me. “Remember when you had a crush on my sister? Guess the tables have turned, huh?”
I choke on my drink. “That was different!”
“Sure,” she grins, her eyes dancing with mischief. “Different chest sizes, at least.”
And I burst out laughing because, despite everything, she’s still my best friend, gun-hoarding tendencies and all. Sure, the packaging is different (amazing, breathtaking packaging, if I may add), but inside, it’s still Dave. Or Daisy.
Maybe more complicated, surely more entertaining, and undeniably... well, hotter.
“And maybe,” she adds with a wink, “get used to looking at my face, unless you want me to dunk you at the next paintball game.”
Threats aside, it’s good to know some things never change.
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: Believe it or not this is my very macho and masculine friend Dave. Or I guess the correct word is was, not is. Dave was one of the victims of swap bomb. You see Dave was a highly respected soldier and he was best friend for years. That was until the bomb went off. Now Dave is an incredibly vivacious and curvaceous woman. Most of his old personality is intact but he loves to dress feminine now and it’s attracted to men. I finally got the courage to ask him out now we’re heading to our first date together. I can't stop looking at his impressive rack and he keeps calling me out for it. I still love hanging out with him though he is mostly the same just way hotter.
Response: Believe it or not, this incredibly vivacious and curvaceous woman sitting beside me is none other than my very macho and masculine friend Dave. Or, as I guess the correct word should be, *was* my very macho and masculine friend Dave. You see, Dave was one of the victims of the great Swap Bomb Incident of 2023. Yep, you heard that right. Someone in a lab somewhere took the concept of “picking brains” to a whole new, horrifying, and yet somewhat amusing level. Dave, the highly respected soldier with biceps that could bench-press a bear, my best friend for years, had his life literally turned upside down. One minute he was Captain America’s stunt double, and the next, he had swapped his dog tags for some seriously stylish stilettos. Now, don’t get ahead of yourself. Dave—er, Daisy, as she insists on being called now—is still mostly the same person. She still loves a good beer, still nails the high score on all the arcade shooting games, and can still school me at poker. You can take the soldier out of the field but, apparently, you can’t take the field out of the soldier. She’s just way more fashion-forward now—and has a makeup collection that would make Sephora blush. So here I am, finally finding the courage to ask her out. You can imagine my nerves, right? It’s like asking out The Rock, if The Rock suddenly had Gisele Bündchen's looks and a wardrobe rivaling Carrie Bradshaw’s. We’re on our first date at a fancy restaurant, the kind with tablecloths that you’re afraid to spill on. Daisy looks stunning in a dress that, funny enough, she used to lovingly mock women for wearing. 'Functional over frills,' he said—until frills hugged his curves like a lover. And then, there’s her impressive rack. Seriously, it’s like her chest declared war on gravity and won by a landslide. I can't stop staring. I try the ol’ “look into my eyes” trick, but my eyes are like stubborn tourists with a one-track GPS leading straight to Bust-town. She notices, of course. With a smirk and a sip of her wine, she calls me out. “Enjoying the view, buddy?” Caught, I stammer, blushing harder than a schoolgirl at a Justin Bieber concert. “I uh… yes. I mean no. I mean, yes—” “Yes?” she arches a perfect eyebrow. Dave never had perfect eyebrows; those caterpillars always seemed ready to declare independence from his face. Now they’re like synchronized swimmers, elegantly framing her judging gaze. Look, don’t get me wrong. Hanging out with her is still amazing. We play Call of Duty just like old times, except now she critiques my poor choice of grenades while applying eyeliner. Conversations are the same—just sprinkled with occasional debates over the right shade of nude lipstick (I still don’t get it, Daisy). “Relax,” Daisy laughs, a melodic sound that never fails to disarm me. “Remember when you had a crush on my sister? Guess the tables have turned, huh?” I choke on my drink. “That was different!” “Sure,” she grins, her eyes dancing with mischief. “Different chest sizes, at least.” And I burst out laughing because, despite everything, she’s still my best friend, gun-hoarding tendencies and all. Sure, the packaging is different (amazing, breathtaking packaging, if I may add), but inside, it’s still Dave. Or Daisy. Maybe more complicated, surely more entertaining, and undeniably... well, hotter. “And maybe,” she adds with a wink, “get used to looking at my face, unless you want me to dunk you at the next paintball game.” Threats aside, it’s good to know some things never change.
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