You slide a chair up to the nightstand and take hold of the feather. You remove the sandals and toss them, then venture an experimental swipe on his big toe.
"ZZZZZ...snrrk-knuh-huh..."
The other foot absentmindedly scratches the assaulted digit and the snoring resumes.
You target the other foot this time, running the feather tip over the ball of the meaty foot.
"ZZZZZ...snkk..heh-hunh-hunhnnkkkZZZZZ..."
Again the feet rub together and the sumo keeps sawing wood.
OK, one last test.
You run the feather on a lazy figure-8 up and down one sole. When the second foot moves to defend, you repeat the move on it. Then back to the first.
You slide the table aside and move the bed under the wide feet. You set yourself up beside them and spend the next hour having breakfast and taking playful swipes with the feather. You circle the pad of each toe, trace the contours of the ball, slide down the outer edge, and make spirals on the heel. The feather tortments the deep arch of one foot, then the other. As each bends to defend the other, you trace the contours of the newfound wrinkles in the sole. Even the top of the foot is sensitive. You find you can scrabble your fingers along the top, forcing his toes to splay, then paint the hypersensitive spots under his toes with the feather.
The musical sounds of deep HUH-HUH-HO-ing drift from the next room. But no matter how loud or sustained, as soon as you stop they end with a snork and a snore.
You glance at the clock. It's nearly 10. Whoops, guess you were just having too much fun. Time to get serious.
Turning the feather over and wielding it like a quill, you start writing "Wakey Wakey" into the creases of his right sole. With your free hand, you dig your fingers mercilessly into to soft flesh under the toes on the left. Can't take too many chances with this guy.
A pounding on the wall lets you know sleeping beauty has awakened. You play dumb and keep up the pace for a few seconds more. He falls backwards and pounds on the matress. The squeaks of bedsprings straining under his weight and his mighty fists add a treble harmony to the deep baritone thunder of his guffawing.
Reluctantly, you drop back to a casual swiping with the soft end of the feather. He pulls one foot out and you slide his sandals through the hole. Curiously he lets you continue to lazily tickle the other foot while he straps the first shoe on. Deep hunh-huh-huhs rumble from the gentle giant as you do.
"Oh-ho-ho...I'm run-hunh-ing heh-heh...running la-hay-hate...Jade will be-he-he upse-het."
The last foot slides out of sight. Kind eyes come up to the opening and politely say, "Thanks, friend." The door closes.
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