"Wife Swap: The Hilarious Possession Spell Wedding"
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Today was my wedding day. Or rather, today was Steve's wedding day, but I'm living it like I'm the star of my very own not-so-DIY horror flick.
"Greg?" I muttered, looking down at my new, er, assets. I wasn't used to having a bust, let alone one this, well, bountiful. Also, hair. So much hair. Fiery red strands cascaded down to my—her—back, and I resisted the urge to whip it around like the lead in a Pantene commercial. I looked up and made eye contact with Steve from across the aisle. The expression on his face was somewhere between horror and... amusement?
"What's up, dude?" I called out nonchalantly, waving a delicate hand.
Steve's eyes widened. He mouthed, "What the hell?"
I shrugged. "Possession spell," I said, like it was a thing that happened every day. "Totally my bad."
Our families and friends were murmuring now, trying to figure out why the bride was talking like a dude and copping an attitude usually reserved for bro night at the bar.
Steve had to save face; he managed a smile that screamed "I'm going to kill you later." He stepped forward and grabbed my pencil-thin wrists. "Dude, you're my wife. Act like it."
"Technically, I'm not," I grinned. "I'm just possessing her body." I glanced down again, getting distracted by the whole “different anatomy” situation. "Dude, how do you even walk with these things?"
"Eyes up here," Steve whispered, his grip tightening.
The ceremony continued. Every time the officiant asked "Maggie" to repeat something, it took everything in me not to laugh. Steve kept elbowing me with increasing urgency, but I couldn't resist. I mean, who gets a chance like this? Rapping the vows was a novel idea, especially with a crowd as stuffy as Aunt Edna and the Book Club girls.
By the time we got to the reception, Steve was frazzled. Aunt Edna’s knitting circle was having a field day, wondering when “Maggie” became an Eminem protégé.
"You did NOT just twerk during our first dance," Steve hissed in my ear.
"Did you catch Aunt Edna's face, though?" I cackled, suppressing a snort.
Our slow dance turned into a comedy show. Steve kept trying to steer us into some semblance of a romantic waltz, but I couldn’t stop ragging on him.
"I remember when you peed your pants in third grade," I whispered, making sure to add a little heft to my new hips as I swayed against him.
"Keep your voice down," Steve growled. His hands were on my—well, Maggie’s—waist, and I could feel him trying so hard not to drop them lower.
"What? You’re enjoying it!" I whispered back, winking at our stunned audience. I leaned in, somehow managing to keep a straight face. “Dude, you touched my ass.”
“You touched your wife's ass,” he corrected, trying to maintain dignity.
“You sure? Because it felt like you were really getting in there.”
Steve finally burst out laughing, completely breaking the tension, and kicked off his shoes. “Alright, fine. Let’s give 'em a show!”
The party was on a whole different level after that. People stopped questioning and just started celebrating. Dance-offs, spontaneous karaoke, the lot. It was like a reality TV episode where nothing made sense, but everyone was too entertained to care.
As the night wound down, Steve and I sat on a bench outside the reception hall, looking over the moonlit landscape.
"About the honeymoon," I broached. “Turns out the spell book’s back at my place.”
Steve's face went pale. “That means—”
"I'm going to Hawaii, buddy,” I grinned. “And I hope you packed enough bikinis.”
Of course, we laughed. What else could I do? Because at that moment, Steve wasn't just my buddy. He was also my husband, at least until we figured this mess out.
"Well,” Steve said, standing up with an air of resignation. “Let’s get this over with,”
He offered me his hand. I took it, feeling oddly sentimental.
"Ready, Mrs. McLaughlin?" I teased, looking up at him with Maggie's sparkling eyes.
“Shut up, Greg.”
By the time we finally left for Maui, everything had turned from chaotic to hysterical. Because in the end, laughter is what gets you through, even if your best friend is accidentally living your wife’s body and you’re married to Maggie-Two-Point-Oh.
And that's how we ended up heading to our honeymoon, one of us with a hastily packed suitcase, the other trying to remember how to walk in heels, but both of us absolutely, uproariously, absurdly happy.
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 lots of dialogue where Today was my wedding day. It was supposed to be the greatest day of my life. My best friend couldn’t make it to the wedding since he lives far away now. At least I thought he wouldn’t make it. Apparently, he read a possession spell and accidentally possessed my wife during the ceremony. He walked up to the aisle in her flashy and showy dress her red hair cascading down her back with a strange smirk in her face. He keeps looking down at his new big boobs and laughing the ceremony has been so weird and people are wondering when my wife learned all these raps songs. He even started twerking his big curvy ass at the reception. We had to slow dance and he kept making me laugh talking about old stories from high school and he kept teasing me for having my hand on his butt as we danced. This has been wild for me, but it has kind of been fun seeing my wife acting so free during the wedding and reception. My buddy has certainly made this wedding far more comical by possessing her body. I just hope we can figure out the reverse spell before the honeymoon, but that's not going to happen turn out he left the book back at his house, so I guess he's going to Hawaii with me as my wife. Write the story from my friends who possessed my wife's perspective.
Response: Today was my wedding day. Or rather, today was Steve's wedding day, but I'm living it like I'm the star of my very own not-so-DIY horror flick. "Greg?" I muttered, looking down at my new, er, assets. I wasn't used to having a bust, let alone one this, well, bountiful. Also, hair. So much hair. Fiery red strands cascaded down to my—her—back, and I resisted the urge to whip it around like the lead in a Pantene commercial. I looked up and made eye contact with Steve from across the aisle. The expression on his face was somewhere between horror and... amusement? "What's up, dude?" I called out nonchalantly, waving a delicate hand. Steve's eyes widened. He mouthed, "What the hell?" I shrugged. "Possession spell," I said, like it was a thing that happened every day. "Totally my bad." Our families and friends were murmuring now, trying to figure out why the bride was talking like a dude and copping an attitude usually reserved for bro night at the bar. Steve had to save face; he managed a smile that screamed "I'm going to kill you later." He stepped forward and grabbed my pencil-thin wrists. "Dude, you're my wife. Act like it." "Technically, I'm not," I grinned. "I'm just possessing her body." I glanced down again, getting distracted by the whole “different anatomy” situation. "Dude, how do you even walk with these things?" "Eyes up here," Steve whispered, his grip tightening. The ceremony continued. Every time the officiant asked "Maggie" to repeat something, it took everything in me not to laugh. Steve kept elbowing me with increasing urgency, but I couldn't resist. I mean, who gets a chance like this? Rapping the vows was a novel idea, especially with a crowd as stuffy as Aunt Edna and the Book Club girls. By the time we got to the reception, Steve was frazzled. Aunt Edna’s knitting circle was having a field day, wondering when “Maggie” became an Eminem protégé. "You did NOT just twerk during our first dance," Steve hissed in my ear. "Did you catch Aunt Edna's face, though?" I cackled, suppressing a snort. Our slow dance turned into a comedy show. Steve kept trying to steer us into some semblance of a romantic waltz, but I couldn’t stop ragging on him. "I remember when you peed your pants in third grade," I whispered, making sure to add a little heft to my new hips as I swayed against him. "Keep your voice down," Steve growled. His hands were on my—well, Maggie’s—waist, and I could feel him trying so hard not to drop them lower. "What? You’re enjoying it!" I whispered back, winking at our stunned audience. I leaned in, somehow managing to keep a straight face. “Dude, you touched my ass.” “You touched your wife's ass,” he corrected, trying to maintain dignity. “You sure? Because it felt like you were really getting in there.” Steve finally burst out laughing, completely breaking the tension, and kicked off his shoes. “Alright, fine. Let’s give 'em a show!” The party was on a whole different level after that. People stopped questioning and just started celebrating. Dance-offs, spontaneous karaoke, the lot. It was like a reality TV episode where nothing made sense, but everyone was too entertained to care. As the night wound down, Steve and I sat on a bench outside the reception hall, looking over the moonlit landscape. "About the honeymoon," I broached. “Turns out the spell book’s back at my place.” Steve's face went pale. “That means—” "I'm going to Hawaii, buddy,” I grinned. “And I hope you packed enough bikinis.” Of course, we laughed. What else could I do? Because at that moment, Steve wasn't just my buddy. He was also my husband, at least until we figured this mess out. "Well,” Steve said, standing up with an air of resignation. “Let’s get this over with,” He offered me his hand. I took it, feeling oddly sentimental. "Ready, Mrs. McLaughlin?" I teased, looking up at him with Maggie's sparkling eyes. “Shut up, Greg.” By the time we finally left for Maui, everything had turned from chaotic to hysterical. Because in the end, laughter is what gets you through, even if your best friend is accidentally living your wife’s body and you’re married to Maggie-Two-Point-Oh. And that's how we ended up heading to our honeymoon, one of us with a hastily packed suitcase, the other trying to remember how to walk in heels, but both of us absolutely, uproariously, absurdly happy.
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