My high school ecology teacher was scheduled for foot surgery. Everyone in the class was aware of it since she made a point of mentioning it at some point during every class. As the date of the surgery approached, Mrs. B began to find it very uncomfortable to stand before the class in high heeled shoes and conduct lectures, so she began to do the classes in her stocking feet.

Mrs. B was not a gorgeous woman, but she did have a nice body and I found something extremely sexual about her personality, in a perverted sense. She was just the type of pretentious, egomaniacal bitch that I had always dreamed of seeing put in her place. She was a true villain of the teenage world, the type of authority figure that would try to manipulate an entire classful of potheads, stupid jocks and the underclass with orchestrated fits of rage and then follow that up with false gestures of kindness. Everyone could see that she was a big fat phoney.

One day, as the surgery approached, Mrs. B came to class and, as she had become accustomed to doing, reached down and removed her shoes even as the period bell rang. She set them atop a lab table and began her lecture.

About five minutes into the lecture, Mrs. B was called out into the hallway by the vice principal. The purpose of the meeting was incidental, but what took place inside the classroom while she walked out to meet the vp in her bare feet was the flashpoint of a memory that I will remember for the rest of my life.

I have no idea if Mike, the seven foot super stupid jock that sat in the back of the room in his football jersey, was a foot fetishist or not, but he had the capitol idea of hiding Mrs. B's shoes in her absence. He took the shoes and placed them inside the light fixtures that hung from the cieling, then sat back into his seat.

When Mrs. B returned, she immediately noticed that her shoes were missing, an interesting fact, I thought at the time. Her immediate response was to lambast us about how she was unafraid to assign the entire class to a week's worth of detention unless her shoes were returned in five seconds. But after she counted to five and noone bothered to finger Mike as the culpret, she failed to follow up. She began to realize that she had come up against a SITUATION.

With a rare smile, Mrs. B resorted to pleading for the return of her shoes. She covered one foot with the other, then walked behind her desk so that her feet were out of sight. It occurred to me that this was the first time in her life that she was bashful about being barefoot in front of so many people. Young People that, after all, she barely knew and were generally hostile to her to begin with.

The scene went on like this for the remainder of the bell. Mrs. B's face grew red with embarrassment each time a spurt of laughter erupted in the classroom over the lost shoes. I suspect Mike's motif was just to preoccupy her until the class was over, since he finally volunteered her the shoes two minutes before the class was over. But as for me, the incident was an awakening to what a very real aspect of my own fetish is all about.

Psychologists constantly suggest that the foot fetish is rooted in feelings of self-degradation and submissiveness. But I have always found this explanation inadequate. This incident helped awaken me to the fact that my fetish is much more predatory and domineering than that. Mrs. B's emense pride was abused during the course of that class period, and I derived a hell of an erection from seeing her feet exposed under those conditions. To this day, full foot exposure that is somehow forced upon a female by circumstance is the most intense of sexual fantasies for me.

The operative word here is circumstance, not undue and unlawful sexual aggression.

-- Tostig