"The Busty Buddy Swap: A Poolside Reality Miscalculation"
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Bringing my reality device to the pool probably wasn’t the best idea, but I couldn’t resist. As I lounged on my chair, sipping a questionable smoothie, my eyes landed on a busty girl in a pink bikini. An idea sparked—why not bring a little excitement to the afternoon? So, I decided to zap my buddy, Greg, with her form.
With a sinister bit of giggles mixed with lighthearted anticipation, I aimed, pressed the button, and—zap! There stood Greg, his usual self-confidence still beaming, but now packed into a 5'5", 36DD, wide-hipped body. The transformation was instant and uncanny. Greg blinked, looked at his new appendages, shrugged, and casually adjusted his bikini top as if he had always been that way.
Undoubtedly, the wildest part was his reaction—or lack thereof. You see, Greg still behaved, thought, and in all essence, was himself. But his reality had been altered: he now firmly believed he was always a busty woman named Greta. His phone buzzed with messages, and as he checked, I noticed even the photos had transformed. The one of us on the Wildcats basketball team, where we stood proudly side by side, now featured the newly-minted Greta next to me. Her jersey stretched dramatically over her altered physique, with the "Wildcats" text hilariously warped around her ample chest.
My curiosity wheels started spinning. Would Greta still be the better basketball player than me? She had been better before the transformation. Talented jerk. For science, I had to know if that talent transcended body changes.
"Greta," I said, trying to hold back a laugh, "What's say we play a little one-on-one?"
"You're on, loser," Greta responded with Greg's competitive spirit flaring up inside her.
As we stepped onto the court, I silently hoped her new assets would slow her down. She, however, dashed past me, dribbling with surprising finesse. NakedTruth here: even transformed, Greta schooled me.
Our game ended 5-0, and there I was, gasping for breath, realizing that I am forever doomed to be second-best. What sport bows down to mammary physics, I wondered.
Nevertheless, an even bigger problem loomed. I reached for the remote to zap Greg back, only to watch in horror as it slid off the edge of the bench and shattered on the hard ground below.
"Uh, Greta... there's a slight complication," I stammered.
Greta raised an inquisitive groomed eyebrow. "What now? Lose graciously, my man."
"The remote... it's broken. You might be stuck like this."
I’ll never forget the grunt-turned-high-pitched-whine that escaped 'her' newly feminine lips. And so, our lives adjusted. Greta moved on, adapted surprisingly well, and even kept dominating on the court. Me? Still the sidekick to a friend now forever an enchanting, busty female underdog story. That’s my poolside reality—turns out, sometimes fantasies just dive headfirst into life's deep end and do a belly flop you’ll never quite forget.
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: Bringing my reality device to the pool probably wasn’t the best idea, but I couldn’t resist. I decided to zap my buddy with a busty girl I spotted in a pink bikini. He’s acting likes he’s always been that way, he still thinks and behaves like a guy but he believes he was always a busty woman, even the photos on his phone changed their was one of us on our basketball team we stood next to each other but now the phot had the busty babe standing next to me in our uniform's the Wildcats text on the front of the jersey warped by his massive tits. He was always the better basketball player than me I wonder if he still is even in his new 5'5 36 DD and wide hipped body with and ass to match, if he still was better than me. Me I should ask him to play one on one with me. Unfortunately, I dropped the remote and broke it, now he’s stuck in that body forever.
Response: Bringing my reality device to the pool probably wasn’t the best idea, but I couldn’t resist. As I lounged on my chair, sipping a questionable smoothie, my eyes landed on a busty girl in a pink bikini. An idea sparked—why not bring a little excitement to the afternoon? So, I decided to zap my buddy, Greg, with her form. With a sinister bit of giggles mixed with lighthearted anticipation, I aimed, pressed the button, and—zap! There stood Greg, his usual self-confidence still beaming, but now packed into a 5'5", 36DD, wide-hipped body. The transformation was instant and uncanny. Greg blinked, looked at his new appendages, shrugged, and casually adjusted his bikini top as if he had always been that way. Undoubtedly, the wildest part was his reaction—or lack thereof. You see, Greg still behaved, thought, and in all essence, was himself. But his reality had been altered: he now firmly believed he was always a busty woman named Greta. His phone buzzed with messages, and as he checked, I noticed even the photos had transformed. The one of us on the Wildcats basketball team, where we stood proudly side by side, now featured the newly-minted Greta next to me. Her jersey stretched dramatically over her altered physique, with the "Wildcats" text hilariously warped around her ample chest. My curiosity wheels started spinning. Would Greta still be the better basketball player than me? She had been better before the transformation. Talented jerk. For science, I had to know if that talent transcended body changes. "Greta," I said, trying to hold back a laugh, "What's say we play a little one-on-one?" "You're on, loser," Greta responded with Greg's competitive spirit flaring up inside her. As we stepped onto the court, I silently hoped her new assets would slow her down. She, however, dashed past me, dribbling with surprising finesse. NakedTruth here: even transformed, Greta schooled me. Our game ended 5-0, and there I was, gasping for breath, realizing that I am forever doomed to be second-best. What sport bows down to mammary physics, I wondered. Nevertheless, an even bigger problem loomed. I reached for the remote to zap Greg back, only to watch in horror as it slid off the edge of the bench and shattered on the hard ground below. "Uh, Greta... there's a slight complication," I stammered. Greta raised an inquisitive groomed eyebrow. "What now? Lose graciously, my man." "The remote... it's broken. You might be stuck like this." I’ll never forget the grunt-turned-high-pitched-whine that escaped 'her' newly feminine lips. And so, our lives adjusted. Greta moved on, adapted surprisingly well, and even kept dominating on the court. Me? Still the sidekick to a friend now forever an enchanting, busty female underdog story. That’s my poolside reality—turns out, sometimes fantasies just dive headfirst into life's deep end and do a belly flop you’ll never quite forget.
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