Monday

Ms. Chapman unlocked her classroom and stepped through, holding the heavy door emblazoned with various art projects open for her impending guest. A young boy shuffled in behind her with uncertain steps. Ms. Chapman nodded and closed the door.

“Well then, Stuart…” Ms. Chapman stepped to the light switch, her heels clacking and her lanyard jingling with every spare move. She switched it, and the lights activated in waves, gradually illuminating a classroom that appeared to have been working on various spread-out assignments before suddenly being called to more important matters (lunch). “Do you know why I wanted to speak with you?”

Stuart was a short young man, even by 6th grader standards. He wasn’t as tall as almost all the girls, and he wasn’t as broad as almost all the boys. His tweedy blonde hair was perpetually in tousles, and without his glasses he was blind as a bat. It seemed to Ms. Chapman from a cursory inspection that about the only thing the young man had going for him was his academic acumen… but ever since the latest exam, even this had been cast into question.

“Is… is this… about my grades?” Stuart looked at the floor constantly, shuffling his feet in arcs against scuffed tile.

“To put it bluntly, yes,” Ms. Chapman said, tapping her foot for a moment. She waved Stuart over, and he followed obediently to her desk. A chair was positioned at front for him to sit, and he tentatively sat within, gaze never travelling upward.

Ms. Chapman sat in her own rolling chair, feeling the stress empty out of her as she relaxed her back and stretched out her spine. She sighed, allowing her feet to slip out of her back dress-code high heels into a pile beneath the floor. Then she felt the stress flooding back. The semester was almost halfway over and the performance of her cadre of students had been going downward more and more. It started with math, which made sense. Not even Ms. Chapman enjoyed math. But then science, social studies, even reading! It was endemic in her class, and though Ms. Chapman hoped Stuart’s continued academic success was proof she was at least doing something right, ever since he scored a 68 on the latest test his homework quality had been dwindling. A bad sign.

Of course, Ms. Chapman couldn’t say all this to the young man. So instead, she interlocked her fingers into an X shape and gazed at him from around her computer. “I’m worried about you, sweetheart.”

Stuart said nothing, glancing up at Ms. Chapman before again letting his gaze descend, apparently unable to look Ms. Chapman in the eyes.

Ms. Chapman closed her own eyes for a moment as she pondered how to best express these concerns. Her toes gripped the edge of the mouth of her shoe, a nervous habit as they clicked and clacked beneath the desk. She slackened her fingers and prepared to speak.

“You’ve been doing so well in class lately. I’m just curious if perhaps…” Ms. Chapman opened her eyes. “Can you please look me in the eye while I’m addressing you?”

Stuart’s focus was completely on the floor beneath her desk. He snapped out of it quickly and nodded. “Yes ma’am!”

“That’s important. You need to look adults in the eye while speaking to them. Now…” Ms. Chapman prepared to speak. “Has… there been any trouble at home, Stuart?”

Stuart shrugged. “No, not really. It’s the same ol’, same ol’.”

“Well, that’s good to hear at any rate.” Ms. Chapman rapped her fingers across the cover of the lesson plan. She opened her desk drawer and pulled out a marked scantron. “Now, I have –”

The scantron slipped from her fingers, coasting through the air until it fell on the ground. Ms. Chapman sighed. “Can you get that, please?”

Stuart nodded emphatically. He got from his chair and dove underneath the desk.

Ms. Chapman cleared her throat and gripped the mouse. The computer monitor turned on, followed by the massive projector screen perpendicular to her desk at the front of the room. Stuart scuttled like a vole underneath her desk, the paper making scratchy sounds as it slid beneath them on the floor, forever lost from Stuart’s dry fingers. As Ms. Chapman loaded the test questions on the whiteboard, she began to wonder.

“Stuart? Stuart! Have you gotten the sheet, yet?”

“What? OUCH!” Stuart bumped his head against Ms. Chapman’s desk. As he reeled, he scooted from beneath Ms. Chapman’s desk, surely scraping his khaki brown pants against the floor. The scantron was in his grasp.

“Stuart, honey, you’re not stalling, are you?” Ms. Chapman raised a singular eyebrow, and Stuart shook his head emphatically. “Good. Because if I have reason to believe you are, I will give you detention.”

“Not my permanent record!” Stuart eeked.

Ms. Chapman nodded ominously. “Anyway…” She grabbed the projector remote as the first question appeared on the screen. After rolling her chair around and to the front of the desk next to Stuart, Ms. Chapman lightly snatched the scantron away from her student and gestured upward. “Now, tell me. What’s the answer to this question?”

Stuart looked up. It was a rather simple word problem about a pastry chef’s dilemma in turning a recipe meant for three into a recipe meant for five. Stuart didn’t even have to bust out the scratch paper. “3.75 cups,” he rattled off.

Ms. Chapman peered at him. “Correct. Now, we haven’t reviewed this test in class, correct?”

Stuart replied, “Mm hmm.”

Ms. Chapman propped one foot on her knee, kneading it between her knuckles. “How did you get that answer?”

“Well, I just… cross… multiple…” Stuart’s voice trailed off, and only a few moments after the reasonable expectation of him finishing his sentence ceased did Ms. Chapman finally snap. She turned to him, and noticed once and for the first time… Stuart was looking at her feet.

“Stuart?”

“Mm hmm?” He didn’t turn away this time.

“Are you staring at my feet?”

This time he did. He looked up at Ms. Chapman, having turned tomato red. His breaths got quick, and he began to hyperventilate. “I-I-I-I’m sorry Ms. Chapman! I-I-I didn’t mean to –”

“Stuart, please.” Ms. Chapman gazed down at Stuart with her motherly smile. “It’s okay, truly.” Truthfully, Ms. Chapman wanted to laugh out loud, and she was trying very hard not to. This was certainly novel; never in Ms. Chapman’s thirteen years of teaching students across elementary, middle, and high school levels had she encountered and caught anyone ogling her feet before. It was a new feeling, and it made Ms. Chapman feel… kind of giddy. Like when a student tells a teacher “I love you” or some other display of disproportionate affection.

“I-it is…?” Stuart squeaked out. Ms. Chapman could tell he wanted to turn his gaze to her feet but was stopping himself with as much willpower as an 11-year-old could muster. “It feels… weird. Like something’s wrong with me…”

“No, Stuart. Nothing is wrong with you, and don’t let anybody say that there is. There’s nothing wrong with thinking feet look nice,” Ms. Chapman chastised. “But you need to focus. We’re here to talk about your grades.”

Stuart nodded slowly, eyes still downcast. Ms. Chapman thought for a bit, then said, “We can talk more about feet… later. After we’ve gone through the test.”

Stuart’s eyes almost lit up. “Okay!” he cheered.

The next ten minutes went by like a blur. It was almost unbelievable; Stuart’s erstwhile academic acumen that she thought he lost had returned in full force. He was cross-multiplying, using fractions, finding the area of circles and triangles and squares, even some beginner algebra. All without a calculator. It was… sort of scary, if Ms. Chapman was being honest. But the goal was for her to have a class of educated students by the end of the semester, and this was as good a start as any.

“That’s… that’s incredible…” Ms. Chapman clicked the Next Slide button but none came up. “You just answered every question with 100% accuracy. Where was this during last week’s exam?”

“Ah…” Stuart cast a glance to the seat he’d been placed in for the test, just close enough to Ms. Chapman’s to afford a view of beneath her desk. “I was a bit distracted…”

“Oh.” Ms. Chapman put a finger to her lip as Stuart waited patiently. “Well, I guess a deal is a deal…” Ms. Chapman pulled her foot up from where she’d perched her toes on the spokes of the rolling chair. Her sole was placed firmly in the cushiony seat of the chair, and Stuart was practically salivating.

Suddenly, Ms. Chapman was struck by a horrifying thought. Am I… am I really about to proffer my feet… to a child? Clearly, he was into it, or had some burgeoning fetish. And while there’s nothing wrong with that per se, as a teacher and authority figure, this was all sorts of wrong.

But what, really, was wrong about it? It’s just feet, after all. It’s not as though she ripped off her clothes in front of him. And besides, Stuart had confided in her something deeply personal, something that without her, he might’ve let fester and hinder his development in a self-loathing manner. If she gives Stuart an outlet, she might save him from a world of self-doubt and self-hatred later once his puberty really kicks into high gear.

Besides. Stuart had just aced a test for the promise of her feet. That just was too absurd not to entertain.

So, Ms. Chapman gulped, and she began to stretch her leg out, sole-forward, in Stuart’s direction. It was a difficult maneuver to keep her leg stable; Ms. Chapman wasn’t the most athletic woman, but she could hold it for a little bit.

Stuart looked like he was on Cloud 9 as the foot inched ever closer and closer, Ms. Chapman’s toes clenching and unclenching in the air bubble before his face as the slightly acrid scent of her soft and moist and sweaty pads wafted into his nose.

“How is it?” Ms. Chapman asked.

“Delectable…” Stuart replied.

Ms. Chapman laughed. “That’s a vocab word. You just got 5 points of extra credit.”

Stuart giggled, then reached up to wipe his glasses clean as they collected with fog. Once that was done, the feet appeared in even more crystalline definition than before. “C…can I… touch them?”

Ms. Chapman thought for a minute, then smiled. “You earned it.”

Stuart could barely contain his elated cheer, but he swallowed it. He lifted one hand to lift the foot up from her ankle like a legendary grail, and Ms. Chapman sighed in relief. Her calf and thigh was burning. Now that she had a bit of support, this would be much more bearable.

Stuart meanwhile was dancing his fingers delicately above Ms. Chapman’s splayed toes, unsure, as though he were not worthy to interface with these divine tootsies. He interlocked his short fingers amidst Ms. Chapman’s toes, and a slightly truncated gasp escaped him. His heart was pounding, and emotions he wasn’t entirely sure of were swirling in his stomach. He tugged the foot a tad closer to him, pulling Ms. Chapman’s chair in his direction. Ms. Chapman giggled, and she nodded.

Stuart took this as the go-ahead. So, he caressed the foot with both hands, and he pressed it against his cheek.

Ms. Chapman felt the boy’s warmth through the sole of her foot as he nuzzled it like a stuffed animal. She crossed her arms over herself and got ever more comfortable in her chair, content with the knowledge that her feet were quite literally in good hands. This was like nothing Ms. Chapman had ever done, with a student or otherwise. She’d dated a few kinky men over the years… and here was Stuart, giving her feet better attention and care than any of those losers had ever given to a single part of her body. It felt as though Stuart had truly become one with her foot, and it was enough to make Ms. Chapman’s nails plunge into the armrest of her chair as she further sunk into bliss. Her toes clenched in an involuntary, near-throbbing as her worship continued, and they grabbed Stuart’s glasses by mistake for a moment.

“Oh, my bad!” she said, chuckling.

Stuart peeked his face from the foot, quite massive in comparison to his boyish head. His hair was disheveled, and his face was a bit wet. “Did you say something?” Ms. Chapman could tell every moment he looked at her was killing him as he awaited the chance to return to her feet. So she simply smiled and waved him to continue, an invitation he took with gusto.

He rubbed the slightly-damp underside of his teacher’s foot across his face and forehead, giving it butterfly kisses that reposited near-infinitesimal droplets of her sweat on his eyelashes. Each breath he took through his nose felt like a gift that imparted into him divine inspiration. And when it became too much to resist, Stuart couldn’t help but pucker his lips and plant his mouth on the ball of Ms. Chapman’s foot, giving them a great, big, squelching kiss.

“Ahhhh…” breathed Ms. Chapman. She could get used to this. But the fun had all but been had. “I think that’s enough for now, sweetie.”

With puppy-like acquiescence, Stuart removed his face from Ms. Chapman’s sole, allowing her to retract her leg and let it once again rest on the edge of the seat. “S-sorry…” he said, staring at the ground again, though conspicuously away from where his teacher’s feet would’ve been.

“Sorry? You have nothing to be sorry about. That was…” Ms. Chapman trailed off. She feared the consequences if he repeated to anyone that a teacher told him that was the hottest thing I’d ever done with anyone.

“That was a delight. You were gentle, and I have to believe you must have experience with worship– ah, uh, I mean, rubbing feet.” Saved it.

“No, not at all,” Stuart said, finally ready to meet his teacher’s gaze. She was smiling, and that made him happy. “It was my first time!”

“Well, if you don’t end up becoming a rocket scientist or an engineer like I’m sure you will, know you have a very bright future in being my personal foot rubber.” Ms. Chapman reached out and plucked at one of Stuart’s cheeks, making him blush. She grinned and scooted the chair back behind her desk as she put on her heels.

“If only the rest of the class were so easily motivated…” The anxieties that put her in this position had returned. Ms. Chapman had managed to help the student who arguably needed help the least, but that left 20 other young boys and girls who were struggling, possibly beyond repair.

Stuart watched Ms. Chapman return to her computer and enter grades, and he had an epiphany. Now feeling just a bit more confident to potentially speak out of turn, Stuart said, “Well, maybe they are.”

Ms. Chapman turned to him quizzically. “Why would you think that?” Then she gasped. “Do the other students talk about me? What do they say?” Ms. Chapman only barely stopped herself before her childlike propensity for gossip possessed her.

“Nothing, really,” Stuart admitted. “But I do see them watching you… sometimes… but… I don’t know. I don’t really talk to most other students.”

“Ah,” said Ms. Chapman. “Well then. You should have just enough time to grab a bite from the cafeteria. If you run. Go on,” she said, waving him away.

Now that his more primal urges had been sated, Stuart suddenly realized how hungry he truly was. “Ah, right!” He got up and trotted to the door. “Oh, and Ms. Chapman? I see how often you take off your shoes in class… think you could, maybe… maybe…”

Ms. Chapman looked at him slyly. “Yes, I will.”

Stuart’s smile turned into a beam.

“Have a good lunch,” Ms. Chapman said, and the young one darted out the door, leaving Ms. Chapman all alone in her room until the class returned.

Ms. Chapman reclined as far back as she could, feeling an itch of some sort on her feet. These shoes were feeling more and more like weapons by the day. She shook them off, allowing both to clamber to the ground with dual clacks! Unencumbered, she raised her feet, allowing them to rest, ankles crossed, on her mousepad as her head rested in the cushiony fabric of the chair.

She’d managed to get to the bottom of one student, but the rest of them would be more of a challenge.