Biff had taken a lot of heat the next day. Friends, family, even kids he picked on called him Buffy. They laughed at him, teased him, even though his voice was back to normal and he had stopped wearing make-up and acting like a fag. It was only after his third fight that kids stopped teasing him to his face. There was plenty of room behind his back, he discovered, for them to continue.
It had been three hard days for Biff, but he knew that it would all be good as soon as he got to the football game. Football was his element. On the field he felt like a god. There was no thinking, no planning, when a play was in motion. It was instinct. He was football.
He'd always had fantasies about playing for a big college team, then going on to the NFL, and his coach had been encouraging that line of thought. There'd even been a few scouts showing up at the past few games. He'd heard that one from Duke would be in the stands that night. Good, he thought, he liked blue.
Walking out of the locker-room shower with a towel wrapped around his waist, Biff let his mind wander as he approached his locker. He didn't noticed that the rest of the team had already left for the field, he was too involved with his football fantasy. Neither did he notice that his football uniform was no longer there, but rather a cheerleader's outfit, one like his girlfriend Sarah wore, custom fit for his body.
Absentmindedly he slipped on the panties, then the skirt, then the bra and top, all the while dreaming of meeting his football heroes, playing capacity stadiums, winning trophies.
Fully dressed, he grabbed his pom-poms and headed out the door to the football field. He could hear the crowd cheering through the door, which boosted his spirits. Putting a spring in his step, he jogged out onto the field only to be met with silence. The stands were full, so why weren't they cheering for him? He looked at his team for support, but they were already staring at him, aghast.
It was Sarah, his girlfriend, who broke the silence.
"What the fuck are you wearing? Are you turning into some kind of fruit?"
He looked down at his outfit in horror. She was right. Was he turning in a fruit? Tears welling up in his eyes, he sprinted off the field, away from his humiliation. The last thing he saw before he made it to the door was man wearing a Duke jacket, furiously scribbling notes while scowling.
