The Wrong Swap
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Title: The Wrong Swap
The hum of my hidden brain-switching machine was supposed to be silent, a testament to its advanced technology. I had hidden it well—at least, I thought I had. But then my buddy Dave found it, and everything went sideways.
"Benny, what the hell is this?" Dave's voice echoed through my basement laboratory.
My heart skipped a beat. "Dave, don't touch that!" I shouted from the other side of the room, but it was too late. He had already bumped into the contraption, setting off a series of flashing lights and whirring noises.
In a blink, I saw my wife, Liz, who had been wearing her flowery nightie and looking effortlessly beautiful, and Dave drop to the ground, groaning.
"What have you done?" I rushed over, panic setting in.
Liz's eyes fluttered open, but the expression behind them was unmistakably Dave's. The realization hit me like a ton of bricks. They had swapped brains.
"What the...?" Dave—now in Liz's body—looked down in shock. "Holy—I'm... I'm Liz!"
I helped them both to their feet, my mind racing for solutions. "We'll figure this out," I insisted, though I had no idea how.
Dave seemed to be in utter turmoil at first, especially when he glanced down at Liz's—no, his—ample cleavage, revealed by the nightie’s low cut. "Is this real?" He muttered, tentatively bouncing on the balls of his feet. When the unexpected jiggle confirmed his fears, his expression shifted from panic to an eerie kind of interest.
"Dave, stop that!" Liz's body commanded, though the words came out in Dave's unmistakable gruff timbre.
"Sorry, it’s just—wow. No wonder guys stare,” Dave said, with a crooked grin, looking down Liz’s nightie again. Completely flustered, I knew that we had a dinner reservation we couldn’t miss. Liz’s—er, Dave's—antics were already getting out of hand and we hadn’t even left the house.
"C'mon, you need to dress appropriately," I finally managed to say.
"Dress? You want me to dress up?" Dave's eyes lit up mischievously.
Fifteen minutes later, Dave, now squeezed into one of Liz's elegant dresses, looked the part of a high-class lady, but his behavior was far from it.
With Liz's purse clutched in his hand and a slightly forced strut, Dave followed us to the restaurant, chuckling intermittently and winking at himself in shop windows. Liz, stuck in Dave’s body, was fuming.
“My body had better be in one piece by the end of this, Dave!” Liz’s voice echoed out from a significantly deeper throat.
Arriving at the restaurant, heads turned almost immediately, the sight of a prim and proper lady walking with the swagger of a middle-aged man was striking enough. But it got worse. Much worse.
Once seated, Dave couldn’t help but get a feel for his new body—literally. During the main course, he leaned over and commented, “Hey, sugar,” to the waitress. "Nice rack. Though I think mine might be a cup size bigger." He punctuated his comment with a belch that rattled the silverware.
I buried my face in my hands. "Dave, you need to act more like Liz. People are staring."
“As opposed to what?” he replied in a hushed conspiratorial tone, although loud enough for neighboring diners to hear.
The rest of the dinner passed in a blur of shocking statements and uncomfortable silences. Liz, observing from Dave’s seat, looked ready to strangle him with every inappropriate action he took. My only relief was the brief moments when Dave was too absorbed in his own newfound chest to disturb anyone further.
After paying the bill and avoiding the glares thrown our way, we headed back home in silence.
Back in the basement, I managed to reverse the machine’s switch, and they slumped to the floor once more. This time, when they awoke, their bodies and minds were finally realigned.
“I better get an apology, Dave,” Liz said, her voice back to its melodious self but carrying the weight of righteous anger.
“You gotta admit, it was kinda fun,” Dave said, not helping his case at all.
With a strained smile, Liz walked to our room, shaking her head. “Next time you leave that thing lying around, it’s not just going to be hidden. It’s going to be destroyed.”
And as Dave shuffled out, eager to avoid any further wrath, he left me with a parting shot. "Benny, that thing's impressive. But man, you need better security."
I couldn't help but agree. The brain-switching machine was going back into its double-locked storage. Far, far away from any curious friends.
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 things can get really awkward when you invent a brain switching machine. I thought I had kept it pretty well hidden, but unfortunately my buddy found it. He accidentally bumped into it causing a brain swap between him and my wife who was wearing her flowery nightie at the time which showed off her large and generous cleavage. He was freaking out at first but I think he enjoys it now, He keeps looking down his dress to get a view of his new giant chest with its incredible cleavage. He has even bounces on the balls of his feet a few times to feel his new boobs bounce. Now we have to head out for dinner he grabs my wife's purse and My wife forces him to put on a nice dress and we head for our dinner reservations. Everyone at the restaurant looks shocked when this prim and proper looking lady sounds like a middle aged man, he comments on the waitresses rack even though his own rack might be a cup size or two bigger and he even belches loudly after eating his steak.
Response: Title: The Wrong Swap The hum of my hidden brain-switching machine was supposed to be silent, a testament to its advanced technology. I had hidden it well—at least, I thought I had. But then my buddy Dave found it, and everything went sideways. "Benny, what the hell is this?" Dave's voice echoed through my basement laboratory. My heart skipped a beat. "Dave, don't touch that!" I shouted from the other side of the room, but it was too late. He had already bumped into the contraption, setting off a series of flashing lights and whirring noises. In a blink, I saw my wife, Liz, who had been wearing her flowery nightie and looking effortlessly beautiful, and Dave drop to the ground, groaning. "What have you done?" I rushed over, panic setting in. Liz's eyes fluttered open, but the expression behind them was unmistakably Dave's. The realization hit me like a ton of bricks. They had swapped brains. "What the...?" Dave—now in Liz's body—looked down in shock. "Holy—I'm... I'm Liz!" I helped them both to their feet, my mind racing for solutions. "We'll figure this out," I insisted, though I had no idea how. Dave seemed to be in utter turmoil at first, especially when he glanced down at Liz's—no, his—ample cleavage, revealed by the nightie’s low cut. "Is this real?" He muttered, tentatively bouncing on the balls of his feet. When the unexpected jiggle confirmed his fears, his expression shifted from panic to an eerie kind of interest. "Dave, stop that!" Liz's body commanded, though the words came out in Dave's unmistakable gruff timbre. "Sorry, it’s just—wow. No wonder guys stare,” Dave said, with a crooked grin, looking down Liz’s nightie again. Completely flustered, I knew that we had a dinner reservation we couldn’t miss. Liz’s—er, Dave's—antics were already getting out of hand and we hadn’t even left the house. "C'mon, you need to dress appropriately," I finally managed to say. "Dress? You want me to dress up?" Dave's eyes lit up mischievously. Fifteen minutes later, Dave, now squeezed into one of Liz's elegant dresses, looked the part of a high-class lady, but his behavior was far from it. With Liz's purse clutched in his hand and a slightly forced strut, Dave followed us to the restaurant, chuckling intermittently and winking at himself in shop windows. Liz, stuck in Dave’s body, was fuming. “My body had better be in one piece by the end of this, Dave!” Liz’s voice echoed out from a significantly deeper throat. Arriving at the restaurant, heads turned almost immediately, the sight of a prim and proper lady walking with the swagger of a middle-aged man was striking enough. But it got worse. Much worse. Once seated, Dave couldn’t help but get a feel for his new body—literally. During the main course, he leaned over and commented, “Hey, sugar,” to the waitress. "Nice rack. Though I think mine might be a cup size bigger." He punctuated his comment with a belch that rattled the silverware. I buried my face in my hands. "Dave, you need to act more like Liz. People are staring." “As opposed to what?” he replied in a hushed conspiratorial tone, although loud enough for neighboring diners to hear. The rest of the dinner passed in a blur of shocking statements and uncomfortable silences. Liz, observing from Dave’s seat, looked ready to strangle him with every inappropriate action he took. My only relief was the brief moments when Dave was too absorbed in his own newfound chest to disturb anyone further. After paying the bill and avoiding the glares thrown our way, we headed back home in silence. Back in the basement, I managed to reverse the machine’s switch, and they slumped to the floor once more. This time, when they awoke, their bodies and minds were finally realigned. “I better get an apology, Dave,” Liz said, her voice back to its melodious self but carrying the weight of righteous anger. “You gotta admit, it was kinda fun,” Dave said, not helping his case at all. With a strained smile, Liz walked to our room, shaking her head. “Next time you leave that thing lying around, it’s not just going to be hidden. It’s going to be destroyed.” And as Dave shuffled out, eager to avoid any further wrath, he left me with a parting shot. "Benny, that thing's impressive. But man, you need better security." I couldn't help but agree. The brain-switching machine was going back into its double-locked storage. Far, far away from any curious friends.
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