I lay them on a clean plate, next to the jar of natural peanut butter, and the sensuous gleam of the raspberry fruit spread, so dark and inviting.
"You know you want it, don't you?" I call to the toaster.
She's a standard, cheap little two-slot whore from China, bought at Walmart.
She's sitting there, unplugged, quiet, huddled behind the pill bottles. Behind the blender, like I can't see her untidy whiteness back there, her fat little curves that say "Use me!" even as she huddles. Submissive little Chinese slut of a toaster!
Teasingly, I trace her cord out of the others...and plug her in.
"You want this bread, don't you, in your dirty slots, don't you?"
I rattle her entire body a bit. Oh yes, I know her slots are dirty with burnt crumbs, the wench...Sometimes she's so filthy I just open her bottom up and shake her over the sink!
Into each slot, I thrust my throbbing bread.
"Take that! You always take it Whole Wheat, don't you?" You even like extra fiber!"
She submits, I see the gleam from her stained white metal, and know so well what she wants.
Her slots, filled with my bread.
Once, I depress her button, and inside each slot, wires start to glow red. Like a cherry. It's electric.
Her slots are heating only for me.
Even so, I know, she'd heat for anyone, anyone at all. But I own her, heart, soul, and circuitry.
Contemptuously, I ignore her turned-on state, and prepare my coffee...She gets so hot, so hot from being treated like nothing but an object...My cheap little Chinese toaster...Her white flanks shine seductively at me, but I deny her the touch.
I can see, and smell the lovely aroma of her turned-on state, the crumbs in her depths creating a smoky smell...oh, I knows she likes this so much, know she waits for me to turn her on, heat her up, and double-penetrate her in both her slots at once.
As I reach for a cup, there's a sudden release, and she's finished, my toast done to a turn.
I remove each gently crisp and lightly caramelized slice from her slots that yearn silently up at me...saying "Do it again."
But no, I have to mind my calories.
...There she sits on the counter, as always, awaiting my pleasure.