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Captioned Images Series: Not My Type
Created: 02/03/2026
Clive’s 53-year-old mother was halfway through drinking her morning tea—now in her son’s 25-year-old body—when her phone rang. The hair salon’s cheerful reminder chirped through the speaker about her standing appointment.
“Oh no,” she muttered, rubbing a jawline that absolutely was not hers.
She immediately called Clive, who answered while staring in horror at his reflection in her middle-aged body. “You have to go to my hair appointment,” she said firmly. “I’ll meet you there and explain exactly what I want done. And Clive—do *not* tell the stylist that we swapped bodies. Iwill do all the talking.”
The salon buzzed with music and hairspray. Clive sat in the chair, his young body draped in a black cape, while his mother hovered nearby like an anxious director. She rattled off instructions about layers, volume, and “nothing too youthful,” gesturing at Clive as if he were a mannequin.
The stylist, a pretty woman with sharp bangs and sharper eyes, tilted her head. “You okay, hon?” she asked Clive. “You look… confused.”
Before he could answer, his mother’s phone buzzed. “I need to take this,” she said, stepping outside.
Left alone, Clive—still adjusting to the strange confidence that came with his mother’s posture and voice—smiled at the stylist. “So,” he said casually, “you come here often? I mean—obviously—you work here. But still. You’ve got great hands.”
The stylist froze, scissors midair. “Excuse me?”
Clive leaned in, lowering his voice. “I’m just saying, you must work out. Strong grip. Very impressive.”
Her eyes flicked to the door, then back to him. “Uh-huh.”
When his mother returned, the stylist was already removing the cape. “I’m sorry,” she said briskly, “but I don’t think I’m the right fit for you today.”
“What?” his mother protested. “You haven’t even started!”
“I think it’s best if you both leave.”
Outside, his mother rounded on him. “Clive! I told you to keep your mouth shut about the body swap!”
“I didn’t say *anything* about the body swap,” Clive insisted. And he hadn’t. He also didn’t mention the flirting.
His mother crossed her arms. “Then why were we kicked out?”
Clive shrugged, trying—and failing—to look innocent in her body. “Guess she just wasn’t my type.”
Made with Gemini Generator