"Bra Trouble and Beach Hurdles: The Boobinator Chronicles"
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On a scale of one to ten on the "was this a good idea?" meter, I was currently leaning towards "oops." That didn't stop me from inviting Alex to the park though. I mean, who doesn't want to see their best friend test drive a busty redhead's life, complete with bountiful assets and a personal soundtrack of "she's a ten"?
As Alex sat perplexed on a park bench next to me, he adjusted his new-to-him top with all the grace of a drunken kangaroo. "This is the weirdest feeling ever!" he groaned, attempting to shift the weight of his new assets with an exaggerated huff. "I'm the only dude on the planet who's had to spend his entire life feeling like he stole two watermelons!"
"Life's a peach, isn't it?" I quipped, watching him struggle with a bra clasp that was more like a Rubik's Cube for the terminally impatient.
"You know, all the guys in gym class were *obsessed* with these," he said, gesturing at his borrowed chest. "Awkward locker room moments galore. Thank goodness for towels."
I burst out laughing, picturing Alex with a towel cape and a new superhero persona—The Boobinator. But Alex? He shrugged it off like someone who's been dunked in a vat of unasked-for estrogen.
"Oh, and remember that beach trip last summer? You dared me to do the 'slow-mo Baywatch run.' I almost twisted an ankle when I realized...these things have momentum!" He gestured to the waves now eternally etched into his new memories.
"You mean those bikinis aren't made for track stars?" I teased. Alex rolled his borrowed emerald eyes.
And then, capturing the irony of our entire situation, we decided to grab some grub. Strolling into Mario's Pizza Emporium, we were halted by the welcome bell dinging above the door.
"Ah, lovebirds!" Mario bellowed, his accent as thick as the New York-style crust. "Let me guess, you get the heart-shaped pizza today, eh?"
Before I could correct him, Alex, teetering on his stilettos of high-strung annoyance and bygone Alex moments, burst, "For the millionth time, I'm not his girlfriend. Just because I can rock a bra doesn't mean I'm dating Bozo here!"
We squeezed into a booth that threatened to make things closer than necessary. Our pizza arrived—all cheese and garlic sausage glory. Somehow amidst the BBQ-infused chaos, Alex found more memories to bring to the table.
"Remember your thirteenth birthday? I came in as the Mermaid Man to your Barnacle Boy," he laughed. "Still can't believe I took on the challenge of that shimmering fishtail paired with this, uh, natural... buoyancy."
I snorted, narrowly avoiding spraying Sprite across the table. "Yeah, good times," I said, while scrolling through my phone photo gallery—a wild retrocession from t-shirts to brassieres Alex now remembers always wearing.
Each image—rollercoaster peace signs to patchy Boy Scouts uniforms—matched with the redhead upgrade wasn't just surreal. It was exquisite, absurd artistry. There he was, the pale-skinned ginger in outfits no reasonable mother would ever let a child leave the house wearing until you realize... someone did.
"Sometimes I think boy's section missed me," Alex sighed thoughtfully, stealing yet another slice of pizza. "Although, I had killer confidence as a pirate wench every Halloween."
As if history had woven this tapestry to coincide perfectly with his body trade.
I decided that maybe reality wouldn’t shatter if I left things as they were, just until dessert. I mean, he *did* look fairly majestic in that low-cut mermaid ensemble. Plus, someone has to bring up the topic of beach hurdles and bust adjustments, right?
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 I found a reality remote, It is a remote that can swap peoples bodies while leaving them unaware of the swap and makes them think they have always been that way. I decided on wanted to test it so I called my friend Alex over and we went to the park, I saw this busty and beautiful redhead sitting on a bench. I fired the remote at her and my friend and swapped them. Now my friend thinks he has always had her curvy and busty body his whole life. He grumbles as he adjusts his bra and complains about being the only guy around with boobs. New memories arise in him where he talks about changing in the Lockeroom and how weird it gets since all guys love boobs. He tells me all these new memories he has thar go with his new form and his new busty body. It is very interesting, maybe I'll put the remote away for now and keep him like this while we head out to get something to eat, I have a feeling it could get more interesting. Alex and you go out to eat and people think you are on a date since they think Alex is a girl and Alex gets mad because this happens all the time. He talks about other stories of going on trips with you wear he wore a bikini and even the first time he showed you his chest on a dare. Alex has all these new memories and apparently, they are all real you check your phone and see all the photos of you and him on vacation but now its the busty redhead in his place. Theres the photo of the two of you throwing up peace signs on a rollercoaster but he is swapped. The crazy photo is one where you were kids on Halloween you as a soldier him as a cowboy another Halloween photo with us as superheroes but him still with his busty body, but for some reason, even as a kid he has her busty redheaded body another childhood photo of us in boys scouts but his scout uniform was low cut and showed off a ton of leg then one of the funniest photos was a school photo of me and him posing in a goofy way with him wearing a low cut green top it was hilarious. Alex acts nonchalant about all of it because it was normal to him he has always been this way in his mind.
Response: On a scale of one to ten on the "was this a good idea?" meter, I was currently leaning towards "oops." That didn't stop me from inviting Alex to the park though. I mean, who doesn't want to see their best friend test drive a busty redhead's life, complete with bountiful assets and a personal soundtrack of "she's a ten"? As Alex sat perplexed on a park bench next to me, he adjusted his new-to-him top with all the grace of a drunken kangaroo. "This is the weirdest feeling ever!" he groaned, attempting to shift the weight of his new assets with an exaggerated huff. "I'm the only dude on the planet who's had to spend his entire life feeling like he stole two watermelons!" "Life's a peach, isn't it?" I quipped, watching him struggle with a bra clasp that was more like a Rubik's Cube for the terminally impatient. "You know, all the guys in gym class were *obsessed* with these," he said, gesturing at his borrowed chest. "Awkward locker room moments galore. Thank goodness for towels." I burst out laughing, picturing Alex with a towel cape and a new superhero persona—The Boobinator. But Alex? He shrugged it off like someone who's been dunked in a vat of unasked-for estrogen. "Oh, and remember that beach trip last summer? You dared me to do the 'slow-mo Baywatch run.' I almost twisted an ankle when I realized...these things have momentum!" He gestured to the waves now eternally etched into his new memories. "You mean those bikinis aren't made for track stars?" I teased. Alex rolled his borrowed emerald eyes. And then, capturing the irony of our entire situation, we decided to grab some grub. Strolling into Mario's Pizza Emporium, we were halted by the welcome bell dinging above the door. "Ah, lovebirds!" Mario bellowed, his accent as thick as the New York-style crust. "Let me guess, you get the heart-shaped pizza today, eh?" Before I could correct him, Alex, teetering on his stilettos of high-strung annoyance and bygone Alex moments, burst, "For the millionth time, I'm not his girlfriend. Just because I can rock a bra doesn't mean I'm dating Bozo here!" We squeezed into a booth that threatened to make things closer than necessary. Our pizza arrived—all cheese and garlic sausage glory. Somehow amidst the BBQ-infused chaos, Alex found more memories to bring to the table. "Remember your thirteenth birthday? I came in as the Mermaid Man to your Barnacle Boy," he laughed. "Still can't believe I took on the challenge of that shimmering fishtail paired with this, uh, natural... buoyancy." I snorted, narrowly avoiding spraying Sprite across the table. "Yeah, good times," I said, while scrolling through my phone photo gallery—a wild retrocession from t-shirts to brassieres Alex now remembers always wearing. Each image—rollercoaster peace signs to patchy Boy Scouts uniforms—matched with the redhead upgrade wasn't just surreal. It was exquisite, absurd artistry. There he was, the pale-skinned ginger in outfits no reasonable mother would ever let a child leave the house wearing until you realize... someone did. "Sometimes I think boy's section missed me," Alex sighed thoughtfully, stealing yet another slice of pizza. "Although, I had killer confidence as a pirate wench every Halloween." As if history had woven this tapestry to coincide perfectly with his body trade. I decided that maybe reality wouldn’t shatter if I left things as they were, just until dessert. I mean, he *did* look fairly majestic in that low-cut mermaid ensemble. Plus, someone has to bring up the topic of beach hurdles and bust adjustments, right?
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