The Bodacious Body Swap
0 Points
0
I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. My best friend, Jack, whom I’ve known since elementary school, had somehow managed to find himself in my mom’s body. The whole incident involving our breaker box and the electric surge was too surreal to comprehend. And here he was, in my living room, trying to adjust to his new life as a redheaded, busty woman with a physique even he'd never anticipated.
“Yo, Mickey!” Jack belted out in his usual gruff, linebacker voice, which sounded hilariously out of place coming from my mom. “Check these out, man! These cans are gonna take me down like gravity's got a personal vendetta against me!” He did an awkward dance, the multitude of sports bras barely containing the jiggle.
“Jack, keep it down!” I hissed, trying to close the curtains discreetly. “Mom’s gonna freak if she finds out you’re stretching her bras!”
“She ain’t using ‘em right now, is she?” he barked back, adjusting the snug fit on his new chest. “And what about this dumptruck I gotta lug around? Sports were easier when I didn't have to worry 'bout my cakes jiggling every time I ran!”
Despite the numerous difficulties Jack faced, he refused to give up on sports. He’d call me every day with new strategies he’d thought up, using his now larger, more dexterous hands to draw plays on his chest, which he’d hilariously dubbed his “personal playbook.”
“Alright, Mickey,” he'd say, poking at one particularly pronounced curve of his chest with a red sharpie, “we’re gonna run the play where you fake left, and I’ll use my new hips to bounce everyone off me like I’m Beyoncé or something!”
One day, we decided to play a pick-up game of basketball with our friends. Jack, still adjusting to his new center of gravity and the change in weight distribution, looked a bit like a newborn deer learning to walk. But damn, if he didn’t still destroy us.
“Yo, Mickey, heads up!” Jack shouted, dribbling the ball down the court. I barely had time to react before he swerved, using his wider hips to knock me off balance. He nailed the shot with ease. “That’s another one for these bad boys! Titans of distraction, baby!” He cackled, looking down at his chest.
Our friends couldn’t stop laughing, even as they struggled to keep up with him. “Dude, Jack, you might need to swap back just to give us a chance!” one of the guys panted, getting up from the ground after Jack had body-checked him with his, um, assets.
Jack just grinned that same lopsided grin he always had. “Ain’t no going back, bro. Gonna have to get used to me body-slamming you with this prime-grade cake and pair of DD artillery. Now, who’s up for some street hockey?”
When we moved on to street hockey later that afternoon, Jack was just as unstoppable. He constantly used his new figure to his advantage, bouncing opponents off effortlessly and weaving through defenses with surprising agility. Though it was clear he missed his old body, Jack couldn’t stop making jokes about his new one.
“Man, I got so much torque off these hips, I’m like a damn zamboni on ice!” he shouted triumphantly as he scored yet again. “And don't even get me started on this rack—it’s like having airbags on all the time. Safety first, right?”
We had to take breaks more often because Jack’s stamina wasn’t what it used to be, a result of not yet having fully adjusted to his new body’s capabilities. Still, his spirit was indomitable. Even the sports bras became a source of humor rather than frustration.
“Y’know, Mickey,” he confided one day, pulling on yet another bra, “never thought I’d miss chest protectors so much. These bras are like mashers for these jugs. I might have a seismograph built-in now, but keeping ‘em in place should be a sport on its own.”
Despite the body swap debacle, Jack remained my best friend, and his humor provided a weird consolation to the bizarre situation. Sure, he might never get those scholarships, but seeing him adapt and still enjoy sports – even if it was with a new set of challenges and body parts – was nothing short of impressive. And when he'd sigh and say, “Man, if I gotta live in this new frame, I might as well kick ass and take names with it,” I knew that no matter the body, he was still Jack.
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: My best friend Is a great athlete, and he was prepared to get a scholarship for any sport he wanted to play. But then something weird happened, he came over to fix our breaker box and an electric surge happened and swapped him into my redheaded busty mom's body. Now he won't get those scholarships, but he is still having fun. He struggled with sports now due to his new heavy chest. But has still beaten me multiple times at basketball, he even kills it when we play flag football and street hockey. He uses his new wide hips to bounce us away from him and He also would call and draw up plays using his new chest as a drawing board. It's actually pretty impressive. Though he is embarrassed about the fact he has to wear multiple sports bras to keep him from bouncing too much, but you do what you have to do when you're sporting a new pair of DD cups. Write my friends dialogue like a big strong cussing linebacker he using misogynistic phrases like Tits, cans, and rack for boobs and Dumptruck, Ass, and cake for butts. Write the story with tons of dialogue.
Response: I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. My best friend, Jack, whom I’ve known since elementary school, had somehow managed to find himself in my mom’s body. The whole incident involving our breaker box and the electric surge was too surreal to comprehend. And here he was, in my living room, trying to adjust to his new life as a redheaded, busty woman with a physique even he'd never anticipated. “Yo, Mickey!” Jack belted out in his usual gruff, linebacker voice, which sounded hilariously out of place coming from my mom. “Check these out, man! These cans are gonna take me down like gravity's got a personal vendetta against me!” He did an awkward dance, the multitude of sports bras barely containing the jiggle. “Jack, keep it down!” I hissed, trying to close the curtains discreetly. “Mom’s gonna freak if she finds out you’re stretching her bras!” “She ain’t using ‘em right now, is she?” he barked back, adjusting the snug fit on his new chest. “And what about this dumptruck I gotta lug around? Sports were easier when I didn't have to worry 'bout my cakes jiggling every time I ran!” Despite the numerous difficulties Jack faced, he refused to give up on sports. He’d call me every day with new strategies he’d thought up, using his now larger, more dexterous hands to draw plays on his chest, which he’d hilariously dubbed his “personal playbook.” “Alright, Mickey,” he'd say, poking at one particularly pronounced curve of his chest with a red sharpie, “we’re gonna run the play where you fake left, and I’ll use my new hips to bounce everyone off me like I’m Beyoncé or something!” One day, we decided to play a pick-up game of basketball with our friends. Jack, still adjusting to his new center of gravity and the change in weight distribution, looked a bit like a newborn deer learning to walk. But damn, if he didn’t still destroy us. “Yo, Mickey, heads up!” Jack shouted, dribbling the ball down the court. I barely had time to react before he swerved, using his wider hips to knock me off balance. He nailed the shot with ease. “That’s another one for these bad boys! Titans of distraction, baby!” He cackled, looking down at his chest. Our friends couldn’t stop laughing, even as they struggled to keep up with him. “Dude, Jack, you might need to swap back just to give us a chance!” one of the guys panted, getting up from the ground after Jack had body-checked him with his, um, assets. Jack just grinned that same lopsided grin he always had. “Ain’t no going back, bro. Gonna have to get used to me body-slamming you with this prime-grade cake and pair of DD artillery. Now, who’s up for some street hockey?” When we moved on to street hockey later that afternoon, Jack was just as unstoppable. He constantly used his new figure to his advantage, bouncing opponents off effortlessly and weaving through defenses with surprising agility. Though it was clear he missed his old body, Jack couldn’t stop making jokes about his new one. “Man, I got so much torque off these hips, I’m like a damn zamboni on ice!” he shouted triumphantly as he scored yet again. “And don't even get me started on this rack—it’s like having airbags on all the time. Safety first, right?” We had to take breaks more often because Jack’s stamina wasn’t what it used to be, a result of not yet having fully adjusted to his new body’s capabilities. Still, his spirit was indomitable. Even the sports bras became a source of humor rather than frustration. “Y’know, Mickey,” he confided one day, pulling on yet another bra, “never thought I’d miss chest protectors so much. These bras are like mashers for these jugs. I might have a seismograph built-in now, but keeping ‘em in place should be a sport on its own.” Despite the body swap debacle, Jack remained my best friend, and his humor provided a weird consolation to the bizarre situation. Sure, he might never get those scholarships, but seeing him adapt and still enjoy sports – even if it was with a new set of challenges and body parts – was nothing short of impressive. And when he'd sigh and say, “Man, if I gotta live in this new frame, I might as well kick ass and take names with it,” I knew that no matter the body, he was still Jack.
Post your own comment: