"The Quarantine Transformation: Confessions of a Busty MILF"
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As I looked at myself in the mirror, I couldn't help but laugh. Two weeks of quarantine after catching the infamous Fem Virus, and I had gone from a beer-gutted dude to a walking, talking fantasy straight out of a teenage boy's dream. Busty and curvy didn't even begin to describe it; I looked like I fell off the front cover of a sleazy romance novel.
The first thing I did after I emerged from confinement was to text my best friend, Dave, to rescue me from the boredom of my living room. "Dude," I typed with my perfectly manicured nails, "get over here. Need air. Beach?"
He replied almost instantly with a suspiciously tasteful use of punctuation. "On my way!"
As I waited, I decided to dig through my wardrobe — or rather, my ex-workout closet, which was now a rainbow of form-fitting options. I settled on a red bikini that left very little to the imagination. In my former life, I would never have guessed I'd voluntarily go for something so revealing. Quarantine does strange things to a man-turned-woman-turned-MILF.
Dave knocked, and I strutted my way to the front door. Who knew mastering the art of high heels would be this quick? I swung the door open revealing my new self, a redhead that wouldn't seem out of place in a Maxim spread.
Dave's jaw dropped. "Dude, thank god you're here. Are you ready to head out or what?" I couldn't resist smirking as I said it, flaunting my new curves with a little twirl.
His mouth hung open for a few seconds before he gathered himself. "Is that... really you, Mike?"
"The one and only," I said, tossing my newly acquired long, fiery locks over my shoulder dramatically. "But yeah, you can still call me Mike. Check this out." I handed him my new ID, where 'Michael Johnson' was printed below a photo of my now-female self, grinning like a sly fox.
"So surreal," he said, shaking his head.
I insisted on driving. The initial plan sounded heroic and masculine in my head, but reality quickly reminded me that my new form came with new challenges. Adjusting the seat took ages, and my shorter legs meant that even the rudely designed seatbelt had it in for me.
"Alright, princess," Dave finally chuckled once I got settled, "Let's hit the beach."
I had slightly underestimated just how different things would feel. Not only was my center of gravity completely off, but playing beach volleyball with boobs that had a mind of their own was another revelation altogether. Let's just say that the first few rounds were an exercise in futility.
"Banzai!" I shouted, only for my new assets to move three times more energetically than the rest of me. Dave nearly choked laughing.
"Got a wedgie again?" he snickered, as I adjusted the bikini bottoms that were ass-deep in their own adventure zone.
"Next time someone tells you clothes make the man, just remember my last two weeks," I muttered, but I couldn't help laughing myself. "I won't look at bras the same way ever again."
After a few drinks, the nostalgia kicked in. We reminisced about our college days, imagining how much more complicated my shenanigans would've been if I had these... added features back then.
"I bet Chad wouldn't have dared to pull that wedgie stunt if you were a chick," Dave said, tipping his hat to ancient history.
"Nope. He'd have become the designated bikini untwister," I grunted.
Our laughter was interrupted by the tug of a small hand on my bikini bottom. I looked down to see a wide-eyed girl staring up at me. "Are you Princess Ariel?" she asked, her eyes beaming with innocent bewilderment.
I swapped out surprised-old-Mike for approachable-busty-MILF, smiling as warmly as I could manage. "Why, yes I am! Want a photo?"
Her mother snapped a shot, and the sweetness of the moment almost made me forget how weird all this was.
"Thank you, Princess Ariel!" She skipped away, and I couldn't help but feel a tiny warmth inside, replacing my usual sarcasm reservoir. I turned to see Dave, who looked ready to burst out laughing.
"You should've done the whole hair flip and everything," he said, his eyes shiny with mirth.
"Yeah, yeah," I conceded, rolling my eyes and doing an exaggerated hair flip.
You know, being a busty, curvy MILF might not be the worst thing in the world after all.
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 The Fem Virus was very contagious and only affected men. It would change their genders and make them women. When my friend caught it he had to stay in quarantine for two weeks. Finally I was able to visit him, he sis’s he wanted to head to the beach for some fresh air. So I went up to his front door and knocked on it. When the door swung open a saw a Busty and Curvy redheaded MILF in a sexy looking bikini strut over and look at me with a smile. “Dude thank god you’re here, are you ready to head out or what.” The MILF says to me. I was confused at first but I found out that the MILF in front of me was my best friend who had gotten the MILF variant of the Fem Virus. He shows me his new ID which is hilarious because even though he now is a chick he still goes by his guy name so the photo of his pretty face on the ID doesn't match his name. He says he wants to drive because he had been cooped up in his house for so long. Of course it takes him some time to adjust the seat to his new far shorter body and he can't find a comfy way to wear his seatbelt. At the beach my friend and I played some beach volleyball of course my friend struggle with the bounce of his new tits and ass but soon began to catch on but kept having to pick his bikini bottoms from his crack. We had a few drinks and reminisced on our old college days laughing about much more fun they'd be if he was a girl back then as well. One little girl comes up to him and calls him princess Ariel he takes a photo with her and its very sweet how he tries to act more womanly and princess like around the girl. Write the story from the friend who caught the virus perspective.
Response: As I looked at myself in the mirror, I couldn't help but laugh. Two weeks of quarantine after catching the infamous Fem Virus, and I had gone from a beer-gutted dude to a walking, talking fantasy straight out of a teenage boy's dream. Busty and curvy didn't even begin to describe it; I looked like I fell off the front cover of a sleazy romance novel. The first thing I did after I emerged from confinement was to text my best friend, Dave, to rescue me from the boredom of my living room. "Dude," I typed with my perfectly manicured nails, "get over here. Need air. Beach?" He replied almost instantly with a suspiciously tasteful use of punctuation. "On my way!" As I waited, I decided to dig through my wardrobe — or rather, my ex-workout closet, which was now a rainbow of form-fitting options. I settled on a red bikini that left very little to the imagination. In my former life, I would never have guessed I'd voluntarily go for something so revealing. Quarantine does strange things to a man-turned-woman-turned-MILF. Dave knocked, and I strutted my way to the front door. Who knew mastering the art of high heels would be this quick? I swung the door open revealing my new self, a redhead that wouldn't seem out of place in a Maxim spread. Dave's jaw dropped. "Dude, thank god you're here. Are you ready to head out or what?" I couldn't resist smirking as I said it, flaunting my new curves with a little twirl. His mouth hung open for a few seconds before he gathered himself. "Is that... really you, Mike?" "The one and only," I said, tossing my newly acquired long, fiery locks over my shoulder dramatically. "But yeah, you can still call me Mike. Check this out." I handed him my new ID, where 'Michael Johnson' was printed below a photo of my now-female self, grinning like a sly fox. "So surreal," he said, shaking his head. I insisted on driving. The initial plan sounded heroic and masculine in my head, but reality quickly reminded me that my new form came with new challenges. Adjusting the seat took ages, and my shorter legs meant that even the rudely designed seatbelt had it in for me. "Alright, princess," Dave finally chuckled once I got settled, "Let's hit the beach." I had slightly underestimated just how different things would feel. Not only was my center of gravity completely off, but playing beach volleyball with boobs that had a mind of their own was another revelation altogether. Let's just say that the first few rounds were an exercise in futility. "Banzai!" I shouted, only for my new assets to move three times more energetically than the rest of me. Dave nearly choked laughing. "Got a wedgie again?" he snickered, as I adjusted the bikini bottoms that were ass-deep in their own adventure zone. "Next time someone tells you clothes make the man, just remember my last two weeks," I muttered, but I couldn't help laughing myself. "I won't look at bras the same way ever again." After a few drinks, the nostalgia kicked in. We reminisced about our college days, imagining how much more complicated my shenanigans would've been if I had these... added features back then. "I bet Chad wouldn't have dared to pull that wedgie stunt if you were a chick," Dave said, tipping his hat to ancient history. "Nope. He'd have become the designated bikini untwister," I grunted. Our laughter was interrupted by the tug of a small hand on my bikini bottom. I looked down to see a wide-eyed girl staring up at me. "Are you Princess Ariel?" she asked, her eyes beaming with innocent bewilderment. I swapped out surprised-old-Mike for approachable-busty-MILF, smiling as warmly as I could manage. "Why, yes I am! Want a photo?" Her mother snapped a shot, and the sweetness of the moment almost made me forget how weird all this was. "Thank you, Princess Ariel!" She skipped away, and I couldn't help but feel a tiny warmth inside, replacing my usual sarcasm reservoir. I turned to see Dave, who looked ready to burst out laughing. "You should've done the whole hair flip and everything," he said, his eyes shiny with mirth. "Yeah, yeah," I conceded, rolling my eyes and doing an exaggerated hair flip. You know, being a busty, curvy MILF might not be the worst thing in the world after all.
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