The Stirrup in High Heels
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Title: The Stirrup in High Heels
āJack, why in Sam Hill are these burgers burnt to a crisp and why are you dressed like Barbarella on a Friday night?ā I questioned, my perplexity evident as I gazed at my friend.
āFirstly, Bobby, Iāve been a little preoccupied today. Second, this here aināt a costume; itās me new attire, thank you very muchā Jack retorted, his voice slipping into an octave as unfamiliar as his outfit.
I couldnāt help but gape at the sight before me. Jack, the bloke who could dismantle an engine with one hand tied behind his back and run a farm like a well-oiled machine was now sporting a figure that could give Dolly Parton a run for her money. Adolescent puberty might have hit the man a bit late, but it certainly had made up for the delay.
I noted Jack sinking into a chair at his kitchen table, massaging his temple while still battling a few rebellious strands of hair. As he draped over the table, his new assets made their presence known under a tight tank top. It was a disconcerting sight, somewhere between John Wayne and Mae West.
All my life, I'd known Jack as a rootin', tootin' cowboy ā fiercely independent, raw, and covered in the dust of the dry Texas wind. Now he was the same man, but with curves that could make a stallion stumble. I moved my gaze from his nearly burnt burgers to his fits of annoyance with what seemed to be a new brassiere.
āHaving trouble there with your undergarments, Jackie boy?ā I quipped trying to lighten the mood.
Instead of the bantering response I was used to, Jack sighed, "You got no idea, Bobby. This contraption's worse than a saddle cinch on a skittish bronco."
āSpeaking of which, how are you handling the whole, you know... saddling up process these days?" I asked. The image of Jack attempting to maintain balance during his horse rides now had an added layer of complexity.
Jack let out a hearty laugh that seemed to resonate a tad higher than usual. āWild ridingās taken on a whole new meaning, Iāll give you that. These new bits add their own earthquake, if you catch my drift.ā
I held back chuckles, trying to hide the hilarity of the situation. I patted his back reassuringly and changed the topic to something less daunting, "So, have you given thought to a new name, Jackie girl?"
He cast me a coy glance across the table, rolling his eyes. āAlright, no need to pushy. I reckon Iāll keep the 'Jack', but perhaps add an ā-ieā at the end. Call me Jackie.ā
I was stumped by his cool acceptance of the radical change in his life. Even with all the new physical attributes and monumental shifts in his life, he was still the same tough cowboy bloke. A little confusing for my taste, but unmistakably Jack, erm, Jackie.
"Jackie it is then, lady cowboy."
His laughter flowed again, slightly more melodic. āYup, trapped in these curvy horrors, Iām still the same olāwrangler, ridinā, ropinā, brandinā... just in some tighter denims."
I had to admire Jackie, stilettos hadnāt swayed his cowboy swagger. Here was the same friend I'd known my whole life, just filled with a little extra spice and a lot more bust. I could clearly see the same old cowboy... just with a tad bit more of fashion sense.
"You do realize your booty shorts have sequins right?" I asked, a grin spreading across my face, adding a little fun to the moment.
"On the fence about those. What do you think? Too subtle?ā Jack...err Jackie shot back, a glint of devilish humor twinkling in her eyes. He might've become a lady, but his sharp tongue and cheeky spirit were as manly as ever.
This story was generated by user zach3 with assistance by one of OpenAIās large-scale language-generation model; prompts used to help generate the story are shown below.
Images were generated with OpenAI's AI system, DALLĀ·E 2, or uploaded by the user.
AI Prompts
Prompt: Write a story with dialogue where My buddy was your typical cowboy type guy. He was always helping me out with cars and handy work, he was far more of your typical manly man than I was. But that all changed once he got second puberty which is a strange occurrence that only happens in men where a man turns into a woman. His muscles and beard turned into a curvy figure. Heās still trying to be the same old cowboy he used to be. Itās just not the same anymore. I even think he might be attracted to guys now, not that heād ever admit it. I came over to check on him at his ranch and he was making burgers for us and he kept adjusting his bra annoyed and blowing his hair out of his face. He talked about the struggle of riding horses with his new boobs bouncing around. Luckily, he was able to find a tank top and some booty shorts that show off his new figure. I asked him if he had thought of a new feminine name for himself.
Response: Title: The Stirrup in High Heels āJack, why in Sam Hill are these burgers burnt to a crisp and why are you dressed like Barbarella on a Friday night?ā I questioned, my perplexity evident as I gazed at my friend. āFirstly, Bobby, Iāve been a little preoccupied today. Second, this here aināt a costume; itās me new attire, thank you very muchā Jack retorted, his voice slipping into an octave as unfamiliar as his outfit. I couldnāt help but gape at the sight before me. Jack, the bloke who could dismantle an engine with one hand tied behind his back and run a farm like a well-oiled machine was now sporting a figure that could give Dolly Parton a run for her money. Adolescent puberty might have hit the man a bit late, but it certainly had made up for the delay. I noted Jack sinking into a chair at his kitchen table, massaging his temple while still battling a few rebellious strands of hair. As he draped over the table, his new assets made their presence known under a tight tank top. It was a disconcerting sight, somewhere between John Wayne and Mae West. All my life, I'd known Jack as a rootin', tootin' cowboy ā fiercely independent, raw, and covered in the dust of the dry Texas wind. Now he was the same man, but with curves that could make a stallion stumble. I moved my gaze from his nearly burnt burgers to his fits of annoyance with what seemed to be a new brassiere. āHaving trouble there with your undergarments, Jackie boy?ā I quipped trying to lighten the mood. Instead of the bantering response I was used to, Jack sighed, "You got no idea, Bobby. This contraption's worse than a saddle cinch on a skittish bronco." āSpeaking of which, how are you handling the whole, you know... saddling up process these days?" I asked. The image of Jack attempting to maintain balance during his horse rides now had an added layer of complexity. Jack let out a hearty laugh that seemed to resonate a tad higher than usual. āWild ridingās taken on a whole new meaning, Iāll give you that. These new bits add their own earthquake, if you catch my drift.ā I held back chuckles, trying to hide the hilarity of the situation. I patted his back reassuringly and changed the topic to something less daunting, "So, have you given thought to a new name, Jackie girl?" He cast me a coy glance across the table, rolling his eyes. āAlright, no need to pushy. I reckon Iāll keep the 'Jack', but perhaps add an ā-ieā at the end. Call me Jackie.ā I was stumped by his cool acceptance of the radical change in his life. Even with all the new physical attributes and monumental shifts in his life, he was still the same tough cowboy bloke. A little confusing for my taste, but unmistakably Jack, erm, Jackie. "Jackie it is then, lady cowboy." His laughter flowed again, slightly more melodic. āYup, trapped in these curvy horrors, Iām still the same olāwrangler, ridinā, ropinā, brandinā... just in some tighter denims." I had to admire Jackie, stilettos hadnāt swayed his cowboy swagger. Here was the same friend I'd known my whole life, just filled with a little extra spice and a lot more bust. I could clearly see the same old cowboy... just with a tad bit more of fashion sense. "You do realize your booty shorts have sequins right?" I asked, a grin spreading across my face, adding a little fun to the moment. "On the fence about those. What do you think? Too subtle?ā Jack...err Jackie shot back, a glint of devilish humor twinkling in her eyes. He might've become a lady, but his sharp tongue and cheeky spirit were as manly as ever.
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