Based on the prompt: “A love story involving kitchen appliances.”
“Oh baby, you make me so hot.”
It all started when Kevin had used rubber tongs to pluck the toast from his brand-new toaster, and it moaned. No, she moaned. She must have been some sort of Transformer or whatever they were called, because that’s just what she did. She transformed. Somehow the little Black & Decker appliance had unfolded into a woman of gloriously chrome-plated curves and twisting, sensuous wires.
“Just call me Miss Decker,” she said. “And I’m all yours, big boy.”
Kevin was overwhelmed. The tantalizing aroma of crisp, burnt bread. The warm hum of electricity. The heat radiating from her unseen coils, throbbing with culinary desire.
“I can be as sweet as raisins and cinnamon,” she purred as she leaned in, metal fingers caressing over his ribs. “Or as tangy as the oldest sourdough. I am yours.”
“How?” he asked. “I mean, how are you, uh – how?”
“I just love the way you turn my dial. The way you press my lever. The way you work those tongs. I can be demure like whole wheat. Spicy like an everything bagel. I can even be your French bread.”
“But you’re a toaster.”
“I’m your toaster,” she said, and he felt the warmth from the radiating coil that served as her tongue. “Please. Heat your baguette inside my slot. You just know how to power me up.”
Still confused, Kevin put down the tongs, only for Miss Decker the Toaster Girl to catch his hand.
“No,” she said. “I like the rubber.”
He dropped the tongs with a panicked yelp, only for the toaster woman to draw him fully into her steel embrace, her shiny arms wrapped around him. His lips met hot metal, burning and yet so eager, so warm, so tasty and crumb-filled. Almost on reflex, he lifted his hand, fingertips brushing against what would have been soft on a real woman, but now was solid chrome.
“Leggo,” she whispered huskily into his lips. “My Eggo.”
Overtaken by desire, by need, by hunger (he hadn’t had breakfast yet), Kevin returned the chrome woman’s embrace, fingers brushing over dials and levers and that long power cord.
“Go ahead,” she said. “Turn my heat up. Press me down until I spring. Spread yourself on me like cream cheese. Melt all over me like butter.”
“I’ll be your bagel,” he said.
“Your challa,” she sighed. “Your croissant. Your rye.”
All he could have ever wanted. All he could have ever needed was wrapped up in her smooth touch, her metallic warmth, in the eager heat building between their bodies. He could spend his whole life gazing into those fiery eyes. Feast upon those chrome lips. Let her surround him, hold him, be held by him. And now with the culmination of all of his lonely dreams and hungry desires eagerly burning in his arms, Kevin gave himself to her, his love and lust aching, coiled with the tension of a lever almost ready to spring, of toast just beginning to be burnt black.
“I’ve always needed you. I’ve always wanted you. I’ve always desired you,” she purred. “Every time you filled me with bread, stuffed me with strudel, loved me with paninis. But now I am yours. Forever and evermore. Our love melted like the cheese on a breakfast sandwich. I can’t stand it anymore. Take me. Take me, my lover.”
Kevin gingerly took the tongs and slipped a slice of this morning’s freshly-buttered bread into Miss Decker’s slot. She moaned, eyes and tongue glowing, power cord tensing, lever ratcheting down with taut tension.
“Yes, yes – Yes! Give me your toast! Twice-burnt! Slathered with decadent butter and jelly! More! S’More! Push that bread deeper. Feel the springs click! Heat me up! Use your tongs – oh yes, oh yes, oh – oh – OH!”
Miss Decker suddenly spewed a mass of burnt crumbs from her slots and her mouth, spraying the entire kitchen – and Kevin – with old, stale burnt carbon. Some of it got up his nose and he sneezed, which made some of it go down his throat and he coughed, which sent some of it into his eyes.
“Oh, no!” she squeaked. “I’m so sorry! I guess I haven’t been cleaned in a while. Are you okay?”
Kevin, still coughing, grabbed a hand towel to clean off his face, but only succeeded in getting more greasy crumbs stuck in his hair.
“I swear, I usually don’t go off like that. Not so soon, at least,” the toaster woman stammered. “Please – please, let me clean you off. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Kevin sputtered. “Not your fault. Ugh.”
“But you’re covered in crumbs.”
“I’ll just take a shower,” Kevin said. “It’s okay.”
“You’re not mad?”
“I’m not mad.”
“Do you still love me?”
“Miss Decker, you burn me up.”
“You make me so warm inside. Please, let me make it up to you.”
He smiled. “Just let me go take a shower, and it’ll be fine.”
“Oh, yes, what a wonderful idea,” she brushed her fingers over his cheek, and then took him by the hand. “Let’s go enjoy ourselves in the bath. Together.”
Kevin led his chrome lover to the bathroom, to the shower and the tub, undressing hastily and shivering at her chrome touch.
CORONER’S REPORT 392294
Subject was found deceased in his home, electrocuted by a toaster in his bathtub. Based on the sensitive position he was found, we have ruled it as death by misadventure, not intentionally inflicted. For the sake of his family, I suggest we omit exactly which part of the deceased was stuck inside the appliance when he was found.
“Man, just when you think you’ve seen everything,” the coroner said, wiping the sweat from his brow. “I swear I’m getting too old for this.”
In the distance at the edge of his hearing, he heard the telltale spring of the lunchroom’s toaster.
“Oh, good. My Pop-Tarts are ready,” he said and went to enjoy his snack.