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**Avatar Affair: The Nu-Life Switch-Up**

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Body, Swap, Virtual, Identity, Transformation in the style of Monet
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**NU-LIFE: BODY SWAP BLUNDERS**

“Bro. Bro. BRO. Open your eyes. Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” my best friend Evan squeaked. Except now he sounded less like a bro and more like a late-night infomercial host peddling compression bras.

“Evan,” I sighed, looking in the mirror. I had a beard. Salt-and-pepper hair. A jawline sharp enough to cut cheese. I was wearing a suit that cost more than three months’ rent. “I’m… Dave Cartwright, esquire. The game just made me a rich lawyer. This is… not what I was expecting.”

Meanwhile, Evan was practically hyperventilating—and that’s not just because he suddenly had a new set of assets. He swiveled in front of the virtual bathroom mirror, gawping. “Okay, spin again. This can’t be right. Please tell me these are dodgeballs stuffed in my shirt, because—dude—they *move*.”

I shrugged. “Rules are rules. You spun ‘female, 35 to 40, MILF, redhead, community darling,’ and now Amanda Cartwright is you. Do you want to trade forms?”

He glared at me, struggling to bundle up the chest that seemed intent on escaping the bathrobe. “Do I want to—!? Wait. Wait. Hold on.” He jiggled gently on his toes. “Oh. Oh… no, no way. That shouldn’t feel… that should be illegal.”

“I’m not sure that’s allowed, Amanda,” I replied, relishing the role. “What would the neighbors say?”

He scowled, flicking his—her—long red ponytail over a shoulder. “The neighbors would say—woah, hang on—I *do* have a nice butt. Did you know Amanda squats?” He craned his neck, squeezing a handful of concerned glute in the mirror. “Dang. I apologize to every woman I’ve ever side-eyed at the gym.”

“Let’s test navigation,” I said, pulling open the closet and examining my wealth of lawyerly gold. “I’ve got ten identical navy suits and a tie collection that screams ‘middle-management crisis’. I feel like Batman if Batman had briefs instead of batarangs.”

Amanda/Evan flapped her hands. “You have to help me pick something to wear. None of my usual guy moves are gonna cut it today.” She gazed down her shirt, then attempted to hop, the motion punctuated with a wobble audible even in cyberspace. “Okay, so *that’s* why women always wear sports bras. Noted. Do women get whiplash or—?”

I was interrupted by the sudden vibration of my—Dave’s—phone. “Apparently, I have a hearing at 10. As my wife, you might want to get the kids ready for school. There’s a minivan out front.”

Amanda/Evan’s expression turned to horror. “KIDS?! NU-LIFE DIDN’T SAY ANYTHING ABOUT KIDS. Why am I holding an Elsa lunchbox in my memory bank now?!”

“Welcome to adulthood, Amanda. Try not to forget you’re lactose intolerant now. Also, your mother-in-law’s name is Deborah and she expects a call before brunch.”

Evan started pacing, hips swaying with comic exaggeration. “Okay, okay. I can do this. I am Amanda Cartwright, supermom. I can—woah, butt jiggle again—focus, Amanda. Juggle tasks. Don’t trip on your boobs. Don’t traumatize the children.”

I straightened my tie and grinned. “And I’ll go crush opposing counsel. Who knows, maybe when we log out, we’ll have learned a Valuable Life Lesson about empathy and self-understanding.”

Amanda/Evan rolled her eyes, but grinned. “Or, maybe I’ll actually do those squats after all. This seat cushion is like, *deluxe*.”

Behind us, the NuLife logo shimmered. “Congratulations, players! Experience points awarded for dignity loss, self-exploration, and resisting the urge to take mirror selfies. Please enjoy your new lives, or spin again… if you dare.”

Amanda sighed, tugging at the hem of her (her?) shirt, and muttered, “Next time, we’re picking avatars manually. But first, I need a sports bra. And like, eight cups of coffee.”

“Welcome to the club,” I said, stepping grandly into an adulthood that, for once, wasn’t mine.

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 body swap story with dialogue where There was this new game called NuLife. It was a game where you could get sucked into a new reality and take over a new form. The only gamble is you have to spin for your form and you don’t get to see the name of who you got until after you get put in the game. My friend spun the wheel first and got Amanda Cartwright a busty redheaded MILF. I got placed into the body of a rich lawyer who just so happens to be Amanda’s husband Dave. My friend is pissed but now I think he’s starting to see the benefits of his new body. He seems to kind of enjoy peaking down his shirt and hopping to check out his new jiggle, he also likes the jiggle of his new butt too.

Response: **NU-LIFE: BODY SWAP BLUNDERS** “Bro. Bro. BRO. Open your eyes. Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” my best friend Evan squeaked. Except now he sounded less like a bro and more like a late-night infomercial host peddling compression bras. “Evan,” I sighed, looking in the mirror. I had a beard. Salt-and-pepper hair. A jawline sharp enough to cut cheese. I was wearing a suit that cost more than three months’ rent. “I’m… Dave Cartwright, esquire. The game just made me a rich lawyer. This is… not what I was expecting.” Meanwhile, Evan was practically hyperventilating—and that’s not just because he suddenly had a new set of assets. He swiveled in front of the virtual bathroom mirror, gawping. “Okay, spin again. This can’t be right. Please tell me these are dodgeballs stuffed in my shirt, because—dude—they *move*.” I shrugged. “Rules are rules. You spun ‘female, 35 to 40, MILF, redhead, community darling,’ and now Amanda Cartwright is you. Do you want to trade forms?” He glared at me, struggling to bundle up the chest that seemed intent on escaping the bathrobe. “Do I want to—!? Wait. Wait. Hold on.” He jiggled gently on his toes. “Oh. Oh… no, no way. That shouldn’t feel… that should be illegal.” “I’m not sure that’s allowed, Amanda,” I replied, relishing the role. “What would the neighbors say?” He scowled, flicking his—her—long red ponytail over a shoulder. “The neighbors would say—woah, hang on—I *do* have a nice butt. Did you know Amanda squats?” He craned his neck, squeezing a handful of concerned glute in the mirror. “Dang. I apologize to every woman I’ve ever side-eyed at the gym.” “Let’s test navigation,” I said, pulling open the closet and examining my wealth of lawyerly gold. “I’ve got ten identical navy suits and a tie collection that screams ‘middle-management crisis’. I feel like Batman if Batman had briefs instead of batarangs.” Amanda/Evan flapped her hands. “You have to help me pick something to wear. None of my usual guy moves are gonna cut it today.” She gazed down her shirt, then attempted to hop, the motion punctuated with a wobble audible even in cyberspace. “Okay, so *that’s* why women always wear sports bras. Noted. Do women get whiplash or—?” I was interrupted by the sudden vibration of my—Dave’s—phone. “Apparently, I have a hearing at 10. As my wife, you might want to get the kids ready for school. There’s a minivan out front.” Amanda/Evan’s expression turned to horror. “KIDS?! NU-LIFE DIDN’T SAY ANYTHING ABOUT KIDS. Why am I holding an Elsa lunchbox in my memory bank now?!” “Welcome to adulthood, Amanda. Try not to forget you’re lactose intolerant now. Also, your mother-in-law’s name is Deborah and she expects a call before brunch.” Evan started pacing, hips swaying with comic exaggeration. “Okay, okay. I can do this. I am Amanda Cartwright, supermom. I can—woah, butt jiggle again—focus, Amanda. Juggle tasks. Don’t trip on your boobs. Don’t traumatize the children.” I straightened my tie and grinned. “And I’ll go crush opposing counsel. Who knows, maybe when we log out, we’ll have learned a Valuable Life Lesson about empathy and self-understanding.” Amanda/Evan rolled her eyes, but grinned. “Or, maybe I’ll actually do those squats after all. This seat cushion is like, *deluxe*.” Behind us, the NuLife logo shimmered. “Congratulations, players! Experience points awarded for dignity loss, self-exploration, and resisting the urge to take mirror selfies. Please enjoy your new lives, or spin again… if you dare.” Amanda sighed, tugging at the hem of her (her?) shirt, and muttered, “Next time, we’re picking avatars manually. But first, I need a sports bra. And like, eight cups of coffee.” “Welcome to the club,” I said, stepping grandly into an adulthood that, for once, wasn’t mine.

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