He is oblivious, as usual.

You wake from a particularly pleasant dream where you are being stuffed by spurting shaft from both ends with dozens surrounding you and spraying fountains of creamy cum all over your sizzling skin. You rub your eyes and stretch, and are surprised that you don't wake up sore after the pounding you got last night. For a second you worry that it was all a warped wet dream, but you look down and see you still have your beautiful B cups and swollen seven inches. You look at the mirror and lick your lips, already imagining the show you could put on for your adoring audience of one.

"Aaron! Hurry up! You are going to be late for school!" You hear your father yell through the door and scramble to get ready. You slip out of your stained sleepwear and hide your sticky stash. You rush and rummage pulling out the first things you can find: a mesh see through thong and a pretty red bra with white lace ruffles on the cups. You practically jump into some mostly clean sweats that more or less hides your achingly hard cock and ample ass and a black hoodie that covers your tender tits. You wish you had time to relieve some pressure, but you don't want dad to get suspicious.

You mumble your usual intelligible greeting to your dad and he keeps going about getting ready for work. Your mind races to find answers to questions he never asks, and you almost wish it wasn't so easy to slip under the radar. You definitely don't want to risk losing free room and board, but it takes some of the fun in hiding a sneaky sissy secret if the only reason you get away with it is because no one cares enough to find out.

Still, you have more pressing concerns, like finishing senior year without getting outed, and hopefully finding enough people you can trust on the down low to treat your 'symptoms' safely and discretely. You hear your dad shut the front door behind him, so you are at least out of the woods for now. You check the hallway table and your car keys are in the candy dish, so you suppose Wanda gave him a good enough report to get driving privileges reinstated. Remembering your bimboi babysitter, you check your phone and sure enough she sent you a text reading, 'Hey, slut. I told your dad you stayed up in your room all night so you're secret is safe with me. If you ever want to make some extra cash in the Bimbabysitters Club, give me a call. You'll be a hit with the all the daddies.'

You are strongly considering it when you get another text, this time from your friend, Elliot. 'Hey, can you give me a ride to school? I'm tired of riding the bus with all those bullies and bimbois.' You smile as you imagine poor, puny Elliot pinned down and pounded until he blossoms into a beautiful bimboi, then you shake your head until you **** the filthy fantasy out of your head. If anything, he's even more timid than you, and while you don't want to be the kind of friend that turns your back on a bestie, you wonder if you will be able to resist sharing your sissy secret with him. You don't see how you can turn him down with out burning a bridge, so you text back, 'On my way ♡!' and curse yourself for hitting send before you can delete the embarrassing emoji.

You wonder on the way to Elliot's if he will suspect anything, but tell yourself you can explain away a harmless heart and a new preference for hoodies. You pull up to his house and blare on the horn, and your buddy bolts out, apparently as eager as you to be anywhere but home. You try to act natural as he slides in beside you and says, "Hey, Aaron, how was your birthday?"

You try not laugh as you imagine how he'd take the real answer, 'Great, dude! I got a PS5 and bimboified!' Instead you try to lower your voice just enough to sound normal enough to mumble, "Nuthin' special." and you peel out so fast he doesn't have time to elaborate. It seems to do the trick, Elliot is too worried about dying in a fiery hunk of twisted metal to ask anymore questions or look too closely under your hood.

You pull into the school parking lot with a squeal of your breaks and a sudden lurch that has Elliot's head spinning. You smile, just a little smugly, at how easy it was to fool him. If you can fool your best friend, who's to say you can't fool everyone? You feel a spring in your step as you hop out of your car and Elliot stumbles out behind you. Your confidence comes crashing down when Elliot leans in and whispers, "Don't worry. Your secret's safe with me."

A feather could knock you flat. A chill of fear runs down your spine as you get clocked immediately after thinking you were being so clever. Strangely, the icy pall of fear is tempered by an entirely inappropriate flush. Apparently you've gained a new 'F' to your fight or flight intinct, as your body is telling you the best way to deal with uncertainty is to say 'fuck it' and then literally follow through. Elliot sees the despair written on your face, but hopefully not the desire. He adds, "Hey, don't worry! If I didn't know you so well, I never would have noticed a change. I think it suits you and I'll help in anyway I can. You know I never need much of an excuse to ditch class, so if you want to go somewhere to talk about it, you know I'm down."

You feel more or less reassured, and consider his offer to lend a hand. Right now there are a lot of places you could desperately use a helping, hungry hand with. You wonder if your sweet, shy friend knows what he's getting himself into? You can't help but notice how cute he looks with that earnest expression on his fetchingly flushed face. You spent so long in denial, you never realized, or maybe just never admitted to yourself, that Elliot is a very pretty boi. You don't know if he's really ready for the kind of problems you could bring his way, but if he is, it would be nice to have a friend help you through this. Then again, maybe being a real friend to Elliot means keeping him at a safe distance until you are sure he knows what he's getting himself into if he gets into you.