Fatgpt

Chapter 1: The Lazy Student

Elyse wasn’t failing college — not yet. But she was skating by in a way that worried her professors and amused her friends. She was a master of cutting corners.

When Professor Wexler lectured at 9 a.m., Elyse stayed in her dorm, scrolling through TikTok in bed, sipping an energy drink instead of coffee. Why waste energy sitting in a classroom when the slides would be uploaded later? When a paper was due, she didn’t draft, revise, and polish like her roommate. She found an AI paraphraser, fed in half-baked notes, and trusted that a slightly jumbled essay would still scrape a B.

She was clever, in her way. But cleverness made her lazy.

That laziness carried into other parts of her life. Elyse often wore yesterday’s sweatpants, hair unbrushed, makeup half-smudged from the night before. She wasn’t unattractive — in fact, she had the kind of face that could turn heads if she tried — but she rarely put in the effort.

And then there was her body. At five-foot-two, she was short and soft around the edges, but not quite curvy the way her friends were. Her thighs had some shape, and her chest filled a bra decently enough, but compared to the girls she hung out with — all full hips and bouncing butts in leggings — Elyse felt unfinished. She wanted to look thick. The kind of girl who could strut into class and have every eye on her.

One Friday night, while lying in bed with Netflix humming in the background, Elyse stumbled onto a strange link in a student forum. She’d been looking for free PDFs of her psych textbook, but instead found a thread titled:

“The Real AI — ask it for anything.”

Half the comments were trolls. Half were people swearing it worked.

Curious and a little bored, Elyse clicked.

The page was plain white, nothing but a chat box and a blinking cursor. No brand, no logo.

She typed: “Hello?”

The cursor blinked. Then, words appeared on their own:

“What do you want?”

Elyse frowned. She thought about money, good grades, love. But those were clichés. With a sly smile, she typed:

“I want curves like my friends. Just a little fatter. You know — butt, thighs, boobs. Nothing crazy.”

The reply came instantly.

“Wish granted. More real than you think.”

Elyse laughed, shaking her head. “Yeah, right.” She shut the laptop, tossed it on her desk, and padded over to the mini-fridge for a soda.

But when she stood up, her sweatpants tugged tighter across her hips. Her thighs brushed together more than before. And when she reached for the can, she caught her reflection in the dorm mirror — and froze.

Her chest filled the outline of her t-shirt more fully. Her hips curved out. Her figure, once middling, had swelled into something lush and shapely. Not cartoonish, not fake. Real. Tangible.

Her lips parted in disbelief. “No way…”

Behind her, the laptop screen glowed. A new message waited.

“Satisfied?”0

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