Title: "Tee Time Tangle: When Buddy Comedy Meets Couples Golf"
0 Points
0
The sun was just peeking over the horizon as I pulled up to the golf course. The dewy grass glistened like emeralds, and I couldn’t help but let out a low whistle. Today was tournament day – the Couples Tournament, to be specific. The entry fees were outrageous, but the prize money was even more outrageous. Of course, the couples were typically pairs of golf fanatics or at least people who had some semblance of coordination between them. But my best friend Dave and I? Well, let's just say we had our own brand of chemistry.
Which is to say, I had absolutely no idea what I was doing and Dave… well, Dave was currently trapped in his wife Linda’s body, thanks to some twisted version of therapy she roped him into.
As I parked, my phone buzzed. A text from Dave: "Just pulling up. Brace yourself."
I swallowed hard. The idea of seeing my buddy dressed up like a Stepford wife had already twisted my brain into a pretzel. I stared at the entrance, and sure enough, a car pulled up. The door opened and out popped Linda—well, technically Dave—with her hair tied up in a perky blonde ponytail, makeup immaculate, sporting a tight golf shirt that showcased her ample… attributes and a skirt that seemed designed to attract rather than distract. She—he—whatever—strutted out with a confidence that would make any runway model jealous.
"Hey there, sugar," Dave said, winking at me.
I sputtered, my opening words garbled. "H-hey, Dave. You look... uh... different."
Dave's new body jiggled as he laughed, and I fought hard to keep my eyes on his – her face. "Pretty convincing, huh?"
"You could say that,” I muttered, nervously adjusting my cap. “You know we have to pretend to be a couple, right?"
"Wouldn't have it any other way, darling," Dave said, batting those long eyelashes.
"Cut it out," I hissed, feeling the heat rising to my cheeks.
Dave sashayed over, digging through Linda’s purse for something. "Relax, pal. We're gonna win this thing. If anything, these curves might distract the competition."
I wasn’t entirely convinced. “Do you even know how to swing a club with... you know, those in the way?” My hand waved uncomfortably toward his chest.
“I’ve been practicing all week, thank you very much. Linda’s yoga classes paid off. I can swing, bend, and stretch in ways that would make you blush.”
“Yeah, well, consider me already blushing, okay?” I mumbled, squirming under his – her – whatever’s amused glance.
We trotted over to the sign-in table, trying not to draw too much attention. Easier said than done when your buddy looks like a golf magazine cover model and keeps subtly tossing flirty comments your way. After confirming our entry, we positioned ourselves at the first hole. There were whispers and plenty of raised eyebrows from bystanders, but we powered through it.
"Think of the money, think of the money," I chanted under my breath.
"Relax Jakey, we got this," Dave assured me.
He took the first swing. Clean, crisp, and straight down the fairway. No hiccups, no distractions – a perfect shot.
"Damn, look at you, tiger," I said, genuinely impressed.
Dave swayed his hips dramatically. "Oh stop, you're making me blush."
“Focus, Dave! There’s a lot of cash on the line.”
“Oh, I’m focused alright,” he said, resting a hand on my shoulder while leaning in a little too closely.
We made it through the first few holes with surprisingly little difficulty. Dave’s swing was impeccable, even with his newly acquired assets. The problem arose around the ninth hole.
While lining up a putt, Dave whispered, “You know, Jake, I never noticed how good you look in the sun."
I nearly dropped my putter. "What?"
"I’m serious. Have you been working out? Those calves..."
"Dude, pull it together!" I snapped, my voice a mix of panic and confusion. "We need to win this!"
Dave sighed theatrically. "And here I was thinking we could share a victory kiss."
I grumbled under my breath. "Just focus on the game."
Despite the awkwardness – and let’s face it, it was super awkward – we managed to push through to the final hole. The tension was palpable. I felt like a teenager on a first date, nervous and sweaty. Dave’s flirtatious banter was relentless, but his putting was spot-on.
When the final tally came in, we were speechless except for the collective gasp we exhaled. We had won.
As we accepted our giant, oversized check, Dave turned to me with a wicked grin. "I think this calls for a celebration, sugar."
"Yeah, about that," I said, nervously glancing around. "Let’s keep this professional, huh?"
Dave leaned in close, those electric-blue eyes sparkling mischievously. "Whatever you say, darling. But you owe me dinner. Winner’s choice."
I just shook my head, unable to suppress a bewildered smile. Swapping bodies may have been a disaster, but in some strange way, it had worked in our favor. And who knew? Maybe a few more tournaments wouldn't be so bad, as long as my buddy Dave kept his eye on the ball and off my calves.
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 My buddy's wife forced him to go to swap therapy. He went and now he’s stuck in her body. When we heard about the couples tournament we decided to join and pretend to be a couple. I just hope he still has his great swing even with his wife's big boobs in the way and her wide hips. If we win this tournament we could make a ton of money. I was shocked to see my buddy get out of the car with his golf bag. He had his wife's hair tied up unit a blonde ponytail, his makeup was done to perfection, A tight golfing shirt that showed off his new breasts, and a skirt that showed off some of his ass. It was so hot. I was afraid I wouldn't be able to focus with him looking like that. What made it even more strange was that he was flirting with me too. I don't know, but I think he's attracted to me now.
Response: The sun was just peeking over the horizon as I pulled up to the golf course. The dewy grass glistened like emeralds, and I couldn’t help but let out a low whistle. Today was tournament day – the Couples Tournament, to be specific. The entry fees were outrageous, but the prize money was even more outrageous. Of course, the couples were typically pairs of golf fanatics or at least people who had some semblance of coordination between them. But my best friend Dave and I? Well, let's just say we had our own brand of chemistry. Which is to say, I had absolutely no idea what I was doing and Dave… well, Dave was currently trapped in his wife Linda’s body, thanks to some twisted version of therapy she roped him into. As I parked, my phone buzzed. A text from Dave: "Just pulling up. Brace yourself." I swallowed hard. The idea of seeing my buddy dressed up like a Stepford wife had already twisted my brain into a pretzel. I stared at the entrance, and sure enough, a car pulled up. The door opened and out popped Linda—well, technically Dave—with her hair tied up in a perky blonde ponytail, makeup immaculate, sporting a tight golf shirt that showcased her ample… attributes and a skirt that seemed designed to attract rather than distract. She—he—whatever—strutted out with a confidence that would make any runway model jealous. "Hey there, sugar," Dave said, winking at me. I sputtered, my opening words garbled. "H-hey, Dave. You look... uh... different." Dave's new body jiggled as he laughed, and I fought hard to keep my eyes on his – her face. "Pretty convincing, huh?" "You could say that,” I muttered, nervously adjusting my cap. “You know we have to pretend to be a couple, right?" "Wouldn't have it any other way, darling," Dave said, batting those long eyelashes. "Cut it out," I hissed, feeling the heat rising to my cheeks. Dave sashayed over, digging through Linda’s purse for something. "Relax, pal. We're gonna win this thing. If anything, these curves might distract the competition." I wasn’t entirely convinced. “Do you even know how to swing a club with... you know, those in the way?” My hand waved uncomfortably toward his chest. “I’ve been practicing all week, thank you very much. Linda’s yoga classes paid off. I can swing, bend, and stretch in ways that would make you blush.” “Yeah, well, consider me already blushing, okay?” I mumbled, squirming under his – her – whatever’s amused glance. We trotted over to the sign-in table, trying not to draw too much attention. Easier said than done when your buddy looks like a golf magazine cover model and keeps subtly tossing flirty comments your way. After confirming our entry, we positioned ourselves at the first hole. There were whispers and plenty of raised eyebrows from bystanders, but we powered through it. "Think of the money, think of the money," I chanted under my breath. "Relax Jakey, we got this," Dave assured me. He took the first swing. Clean, crisp, and straight down the fairway. No hiccups, no distractions – a perfect shot. "Damn, look at you, tiger," I said, genuinely impressed. Dave swayed his hips dramatically. "Oh stop, you're making me blush." “Focus, Dave! There’s a lot of cash on the line.” “Oh, I’m focused alright,” he said, resting a hand on my shoulder while leaning in a little too closely. We made it through the first few holes with surprisingly little difficulty. Dave’s swing was impeccable, even with his newly acquired assets. The problem arose around the ninth hole. While lining up a putt, Dave whispered, “You know, Jake, I never noticed how good you look in the sun." I nearly dropped my putter. "What?" "I’m serious. Have you been working out? Those calves..." "Dude, pull it together!" I snapped, my voice a mix of panic and confusion. "We need to win this!" Dave sighed theatrically. "And here I was thinking we could share a victory kiss." I grumbled under my breath. "Just focus on the game." Despite the awkwardness – and let’s face it, it was super awkward – we managed to push through to the final hole. The tension was palpable. I felt like a teenager on a first date, nervous and sweaty. Dave’s flirtatious banter was relentless, but his putting was spot-on. When the final tally came in, we were speechless except for the collective gasp we exhaled. We had won. As we accepted our giant, oversized check, Dave turned to me with a wicked grin. "I think this calls for a celebration, sugar." "Yeah, about that," I said, nervously glancing around. "Let’s keep this professional, huh?" Dave leaned in close, those electric-blue eyes sparkling mischievously. "Whatever you say, darling. But you owe me dinner. Winner’s choice." I just shook my head, unable to suppress a bewildered smile. Swapping bodies may have been a disaster, but in some strange way, it had worked in our favor. And who knew? Maybe a few more tournaments wouldn't be so bad, as long as my buddy Dave kept his eye on the ball and off my calves.
Post your own comment: