Swings and Changes
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Title: Swings and Changes
The sun was barely peeking over the horizon as I pulled into the parking lot of the Greenside Country Club. Today was the day—the couples golf tournament where we had a chance to win big. But it wasn’t just the tournament that had my nerves jangling; it was seeing Tom, my best friend, in his current condition.
I sat in my truck, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel, mentally preparing myself. I wasn’t sure what to expect, given the recent upheaval in Tom’s life. Swap therapy sounded like something out of a sci-fi movie, not something that would reshuffle the dynamics of our friendship.
I glanced up as a sleek red BMW pulled in next to me. The driver’s side door opened, and out stepped Tom—or rather, Tom in his wife Cindy's body. His transformation was surreal. His long blonde hair was tied into a neat ponytail, makeup accentuating Cindy's facial features, and his figure—her figure—was clad in a tight golf shirt that hugged curves I’d never associated with my buddy before. The short skirt flaunted toned legs and an unexpectedly attractive backside.
“Hey!” Tom’s voice was a perfect mimic of Cindy’s cheeriness, though I could still detect the masculine undertone that betrayed his old self. He slung a golf bag over his shoulder and sauntered towards me, embodying a strange, unconscious grace.
I stumbled out of the truck. “Hey, Tom... or should I say Cindy?”
Tom winked, a playful sparkle in his eye. “Just call me Tom, dude. This doesn’t change who I am.”
I couldn't help but chuckle. “You look... incredible. Holy crap, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you really were Cindy.”
Tom gave me a playful nudge. “Who knows, maybe I’m the upgrade she always needed,” he teased, his voice a sultry drawl that set off alarms in my head. Was he flirting with me?
Trying to shake the confusing thoughts, I grabbed my own golf bag. “Are you sure you can play like this? I mean... the boobs and the hips...” I motioned vaguely at his body.
He rolled his eyes, then adopted a serious yet confident stance. “A swing’s a swing, man. Doesn’t matter what package it comes in. Besides, we need that prize money. Trust me, I'm still in here—just wrapped in a prettier package.”
We headed towards the clubhouse to register, passing by other teams who gave us side-long glances. I couldn't blame them. Tom was easily the most eye-catching “woman” on the course today—a blend of athleticism and, admittedly, something else I was finding harder to ignore.
“Hey, the way they’re looking at us,” I said quietly, “let’s just play the part convincingly.”
Tom grinned, looping his arm through mine in a familiar, yet entirely foreign, gesture. “Relax. Nobody has to know. Plus, isn’t it kinda fun? We get to mess with a bunch of people and maybe walk out of here with a fat paycheck.”
I tried to keep my pulse steady. “Right. Fun. Totally what I signed up for.”
As the tournament kicked off, we fell into the rhythm of the game. Despite the oddity of seeing Tom in Cindy's body, his swing remained impeccable. I could tell he faced minor adjustments—keeping balance with the new distribution of weight, and compensating for breasts and hips—but he adapted quickly. His sturdy, skilled hands worked wonders, whether guiding Cindy's body or playing against the stares from other golfers.
Somewhere between the 9th and 10th hole, Tom leaned closer to me. “Hey, you’re doing great. Keep it up, partner,” he whispered, his breath warm against my ear. I shivered, momentarily distracted.
“Uh, thanks. You too,” I managed to stammer.
Then he did something I never expected—he kissed me on the cheek. Light, almost playful, yet completely disarming. “Just to keep up appearances,” he said, flashing me a Cheshire grin.
I swallowed hard. This was going to be one hell of a day. Winning the tournament was important, but managing my accelerating emotions and his newfound flirtations might just be the more challenging game.
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 My buddy's wife forced him to go to swap therapy. He went and now he’s stuck in her body. When we heard about the couples tournament we decided to join and pretend to be a couple. I just hope he still has his great swing even with his wife's big boobs in the way and her wide hips. If we win this tournament we could make a ton of money. I was shocked to see my buddy get out of the car with his golf bag. He had his wife's hair tied up unit a blonde ponytail, his makeup was done to perfection, A tight golfing shirt that showed off his new breasts, and a skirt that showed off some of his ass. It was so hot. I was afraid I wouldn't be able to focus with him looking like that. What made it even more strange was that he was flirting with me too. I don't know, but I think he's attracted to me now.
Response: Title: Swings and Changes The sun was barely peeking over the horizon as I pulled into the parking lot of the Greenside Country Club. Today was the day—the couples golf tournament where we had a chance to win big. But it wasn’t just the tournament that had my nerves jangling; it was seeing Tom, my best friend, in his current condition. I sat in my truck, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel, mentally preparing myself. I wasn’t sure what to expect, given the recent upheaval in Tom’s life. Swap therapy sounded like something out of a sci-fi movie, not something that would reshuffle the dynamics of our friendship. I glanced up as a sleek red BMW pulled in next to me. The driver’s side door opened, and out stepped Tom—or rather, Tom in his wife Cindy's body. His transformation was surreal. His long blonde hair was tied into a neat ponytail, makeup accentuating Cindy's facial features, and his figure—her figure—was clad in a tight golf shirt that hugged curves I’d never associated with my buddy before. The short skirt flaunted toned legs and an unexpectedly attractive backside. “Hey!” Tom’s voice was a perfect mimic of Cindy’s cheeriness, though I could still detect the masculine undertone that betrayed his old self. He slung a golf bag over his shoulder and sauntered towards me, embodying a strange, unconscious grace. I stumbled out of the truck. “Hey, Tom... or should I say Cindy?” Tom winked, a playful sparkle in his eye. “Just call me Tom, dude. This doesn’t change who I am.” I couldn't help but chuckle. “You look... incredible. Holy crap, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you really were Cindy.” Tom gave me a playful nudge. “Who knows, maybe I’m the upgrade she always needed,” he teased, his voice a sultry drawl that set off alarms in my head. Was he flirting with me? Trying to shake the confusing thoughts, I grabbed my own golf bag. “Are you sure you can play like this? I mean... the boobs and the hips...” I motioned vaguely at his body. He rolled his eyes, then adopted a serious yet confident stance. “A swing’s a swing, man. Doesn’t matter what package it comes in. Besides, we need that prize money. Trust me, I'm still in here—just wrapped in a prettier package.” We headed towards the clubhouse to register, passing by other teams who gave us side-long glances. I couldn't blame them. Tom was easily the most eye-catching “woman” on the course today—a blend of athleticism and, admittedly, something else I was finding harder to ignore. “Hey, the way they’re looking at us,” I said quietly, “let’s just play the part convincingly.” Tom grinned, looping his arm through mine in a familiar, yet entirely foreign, gesture. “Relax. Nobody has to know. Plus, isn’t it kinda fun? We get to mess with a bunch of people and maybe walk out of here with a fat paycheck.” I tried to keep my pulse steady. “Right. Fun. Totally what I signed up for.” As the tournament kicked off, we fell into the rhythm of the game. Despite the oddity of seeing Tom in Cindy's body, his swing remained impeccable. I could tell he faced minor adjustments—keeping balance with the new distribution of weight, and compensating for breasts and hips—but he adapted quickly. His sturdy, skilled hands worked wonders, whether guiding Cindy's body or playing against the stares from other golfers. Somewhere between the 9th and 10th hole, Tom leaned closer to me. “Hey, you’re doing great. Keep it up, partner,” he whispered, his breath warm against my ear. I shivered, momentarily distracted. “Uh, thanks. You too,” I managed to stammer. Then he did something I never expected—he kissed me on the cheek. Light, almost playful, yet completely disarming. “Just to keep up appearances,” he said, flashing me a Cheshire grin. I swallowed hard. This was going to be one hell of a day. Winning the tournament was important, but managing my accelerating emotions and his newfound flirtations might just be the more challenging game.
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