**The Redhead Possession: A Swim in the Deep End**
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**Pool Day Possession Problems**
“I swear, Brad, don’t do it,” I hissed, as my best friend zeroed in on bikini-clad women like a kid at an all-you-can-eat candy buffet.
“Relax, dude,” Brad grinned, his eyes firing lasers at a bombshell redhead who’d just emerged from the pool. “It’s just a little harmless fun. Watch the master at work…”
Then, just like that, Brad’s eyes rolled back—and thirty years of too many Marvel movies coalesced into his “possession face.” A beat later, the redhead froze, blinked, and straightened, then started applauding herself, like she’d just completed an Olympic synchronized swimming routine.
“That’s so creepy, man,” I muttered, sidling up to my newly-redheaded friend as she giggled uncharacteristically, clutching at her...well, ample assets. “Alright, hotshot, fun’s over. Hop out.”
He closed her (his?) eyes and inhaled. Nothing. Redhead Brad’s brow furrowed.
“Uh… I am trying!” he hissed in a feminine, lightly accented voice. “It’s not working!”
“Oh, dang,” I said. “Are you stuck? That’s… yikes.”
Redhead Brad clapped her hands over her mouth. “Why is her voice SO high? Also—hold on—are these real?” He experimentally poked at his chest.
“You look like you’re testing a life vest,” I said, bewildered. “Okay—think, dude, think. Uh, maybe check her purse for some kind of ID? Maybe you need her, like, full name or something?”
“Oh, right!” He fumbled in her oversized beach tote, coming up with a floral wallet. “Okay… driver’s license… Melissa A. Carmichael… Thirty-seven years old… Five-foot-nine. Cup size listed?! Is that standard?!”
“Maybe it’s one of those purse IDs with all the weird personal facts,” I said.
Brad goggled at the card. “I… have ‘peachy‘ listed under ‘assets’. I didn’t even know they had a field for that. And forty-two–oh my, that’s not a measurement, that’s a postal code!”
“Dude, you are really living in luxury,” I said. “Look at that address. That’s one of those gated neighborhoods with lawns the size of small European countries!”
Brad, dazed, blinked mascaraed lashes at me. “I… guess? Let’s go. Maybe something at her place will help.”
We drove to the listed address while Brad played with his (her?) hair, getting distracted by every reflection and, at one point, almost sticking a lipstick tube up her nose. The house turned out to be a four-bedroom palace.
“I live here now,” Brad announced, plopping onto a pristine white couch so expensive I was scared to sit on it. “I am ten years older, I have a mortgage, a job as an executive event planner… Oooh, yoga classes on Mondays and wine club Thursdays!”
“So, what are you gonna do?”
He shrugged. “You know what—I think I could get used to luxury. And supportive underwire technology. Hey, wanna join me at wine club?”
“Depends. Is Brad ever coming back?”
He grinned with perfectly glossed lips. “Depends. Melissa’s got amazing benefits… and I really want to learn to swim with these!”
And that’s how my best friend got stuck in the body of a hot, busty, rich redhead. Frankly, he never seemed happier.
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 loads of dialogue My best friend loves his possession powers. He uses them all the time. Today me and him went to the pool to check out some girls and to have some fun. Out of nowhere he possessed this redhead MILF hottie In a Hawaiian flora bikini top e and yellow bikini bottoms with massive knockers and a peachy ass. Something is wrong though for some reason he can’t leave her body. He doesn't know what to do. I told him he should check her purse for Her ID or license to see what her name is. He sees his new measurements on the ID which shocks him as well to find out he is rocking quite the busty and curvy body. We went to her house to find that it is a massive four-bedroom house. He thought it was weird being 10 years older and being an ultra-busty woman but to live a life of luxury I think he can get used to it.
Response: **Pool Day Possession Problems** “I swear, Brad, don’t do it,” I hissed, as my best friend zeroed in on bikini-clad women like a kid at an all-you-can-eat candy buffet. “Relax, dude,” Brad grinned, his eyes firing lasers at a bombshell redhead who’d just emerged from the pool. “It’s just a little harmless fun. Watch the master at work…” Then, just like that, Brad’s eyes rolled back—and thirty years of too many Marvel movies coalesced into his “possession face.” A beat later, the redhead froze, blinked, and straightened, then started applauding herself, like she’d just completed an Olympic synchronized swimming routine. “That’s so creepy, man,” I muttered, sidling up to my newly-redheaded friend as she giggled uncharacteristically, clutching at her...well, ample assets. “Alright, hotshot, fun’s over. Hop out.” He closed her (his?) eyes and inhaled. Nothing. Redhead Brad’s brow furrowed. “Uh… I am trying!” he hissed in a feminine, lightly accented voice. “It’s not working!” “Oh, dang,” I said. “Are you stuck? That’s… yikes.” Redhead Brad clapped her hands over her mouth. “Why is her voice SO high? Also—hold on—are these real?” He experimentally poked at his chest. “You look like you’re testing a life vest,” I said, bewildered. “Okay—think, dude, think. Uh, maybe check her purse for some kind of ID? Maybe you need her, like, full name or something?” “Oh, right!” He fumbled in her oversized beach tote, coming up with a floral wallet. “Okay… driver’s license… Melissa A. Carmichael… Thirty-seven years old… Five-foot-nine. Cup size listed?! Is that standard?!” “Maybe it’s one of those purse IDs with all the weird personal facts,” I said. Brad goggled at the card. “I… have ‘peachy‘ listed under ‘assets’. I didn’t even know they had a field for that. And forty-two–oh my, that’s not a measurement, that’s a postal code!” “Dude, you are really living in luxury,” I said. “Look at that address. That’s one of those gated neighborhoods with lawns the size of small European countries!” Brad, dazed, blinked mascaraed lashes at me. “I… guess? Let’s go. Maybe something at her place will help.” We drove to the listed address while Brad played with his (her?) hair, getting distracted by every reflection and, at one point, almost sticking a lipstick tube up her nose. The house turned out to be a four-bedroom palace. “I live here now,” Brad announced, plopping onto a pristine white couch so expensive I was scared to sit on it. “I am ten years older, I have a mortgage, a job as an executive event planner… Oooh, yoga classes on Mondays and wine club Thursdays!” “So, what are you gonna do?” He shrugged. “You know what—I think I could get used to luxury. And supportive underwire technology. Hey, wanna join me at wine club?” “Depends. Is Brad ever coming back?” He grinned with perfectly glossed lips. “Depends. Melissa’s got amazing benefits… and I really want to learn to swim with these!” And that’s how my best friend got stuck in the body of a hot, busty, rich redhead. Frankly, he never seemed happier.
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