When I heard Justin's family
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When I heard Justin's family got picked for *Family Swap*, my first thought was: thank god they skipped my family. Justin’s house always runs on the kind of barely-contained chaos that reality producers salivate over—think burnt spaghetti, shrieking parakeets, and an endless stream of relatives who only communicate by shouting through the bathroom door.
But nothing prepared me for the door swinging open and Justin—in the body of his own mom, mind you—standing in front of me, all curves and bright red hair, wearing nothing but an apron and, yes, leopard print undies.
“Bro, dude, you’re early!” he yelped, hugging the apron tighter to his chest. “I forgot how drafty this house is with only two layers.”
I stared. “I—I literally texted I was coming over at three…”
He waved me into the kitchen, moving carefully, which I guess makes sense when you’re borrowing your mom’s body. “If you tell a single soul I answered the door like this, you’re dead. My mom would kill me. Which means I’d be killing myself? Dude, this is so confusing.”
The Family Swap cameras were already rolling—the boom mic almost hit me in the forehead. A woman with a headset popped in: “Can you two, um, have an organic conversation about the cheese plate in the fridge? Maybe bring up childhood traumas? Just make it *fun*.” She gave a thumbs up, then power-walked away.
I tried (poorly) not to stare. “So, uh… how’s it feel being, you know... MILF-of-the-year?”
He glared, somehow even more intimidating with mascara. “Gross. This is my *mom*’s body, I can actually feel her judging me from the inside.”
I walked over to the fridge. “So, which is more awkward, your new hips, or the fact you have, like, three more feet of hair?”
“*Both*, man. I sneezed earlier and threw out my back. And get this—they scheduled me to volunteer at the bake sale on *Thursday*. Do you know how many PTA moms I’ve already let down?”
A muffled crash from the living room. Justin’s
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: Body swap story with lots of dialogue When I heard my friend’s family got selected for the new show Family Swap I thought it was insane. Apparently, everyone in his family was going to swap bodies with each other. The producers decided a son mom swap would be the best story. So now he is stuck as his mom. He invited me over today he said he needs to hang. I’m not sure why he’s only in his underwear and an apron but I’m not going to complain his mom is a MILF. Make it funny and maybe have some of the episodes as a part of the story His mom is a busty redhead with big boobs and a curvy ass
Response: When I heard Justin's family got picked for *Family Swap*, my first thought was: thank god they skipped my family. Justin’s house always runs on the kind of barely-contained chaos that reality producers salivate over—think burnt spaghetti, shrieking parakeets, and an endless stream of relatives who only communicate by shouting through the bathroom door. But nothing prepared me for the door swinging open and Justin—in the body of his own mom, mind you—standing in front of me, all curves and bright red hair, wearing nothing but an apron and, yes, leopard print undies. “Bro, dude, you’re early!” he yelped, hugging the apron tighter to his chest. “I forgot how drafty this house is with only two layers.” I stared. “I—I literally texted I was coming over at three…” He waved me into the kitchen, moving carefully, which I guess makes sense when you’re borrowing your mom’s body. “If you tell a single soul I answered the door like this, you’re dead. My mom would kill me. Which means I’d be killing myself? Dude, this is so confusing.” The Family Swap cameras were already rolling—the boom mic almost hit me in the forehead. A woman with a headset popped in: “Can you two, um, have an organic conversation about the cheese plate in the fridge? Maybe bring up childhood traumas? Just make it *fun*.” She gave a thumbs up, then power-walked away. I tried (poorly) not to stare. “So, uh… how’s it feel being, you know... MILF-of-the-year?” He glared, somehow even more intimidating with mascara. “Gross. This is my *mom*’s body, I can actually feel her judging me from the inside.” I walked over to the fridge. “So, which is more awkward, your new hips, or the fact you have, like, three more feet of hair?” “*Both*, man. I sneezed earlier and threw out my back. And get this—they scheduled me to volunteer at the bake sale on *Thursday*. Do you know how many PTA moms I’ve already let down?” A muffled crash from the living room. Justin’s
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