Mariam: A Girl Of Clay

"She's an orgasm addict/ She's always at it."

-- misheard song lyrics by the Buzzcocks

Mariam was going to cum. Dante could tell this, even from the privacy of his own bedroom, since the walls were patch-board thin and the young woman had the unfortunate habit of talking to herself when alone.

"I'm so dirty. I'm so very-- very-- dirty."

Her voice was the sort certain women spend a life trying to cultivate: a twee, high-pitched, baby doll vox. Except Mariam wasn't putting on an act, that was just how she sounded. Dante would listen for a while each night and then roll over and bury his head under a pillow, trying to drown out her babbling.

"Oohh dear, I am making a mess all over the bed."

It was the bed springs laboriously squeaking that filled Dante's head with feelings he had a hard time controlling. Anyone could tell by the sounds what she was doing in there. At first Dante tried to rationalize it, everyone else in the free world had these sorts of urges, why act shocked when his Mariam seemed to want to do this too? Shocked wasn't the right word, though. He just wished she would channel her impulses into something more ... constructive.

Partly it was that he was getting tired of cleaning up her messes. Mariam never exaggerated. If she announced to the world that she had just messed up the bed or was wet or felt hot it was simply because she had, was and did. Dante didn't think she had the cognitive abilities in her to exaggerated, even if her life depended on it. Some of us are just like that.

"I am a bad-- bad-- girl."

That was the other thing that made this whole endeavor on her part somewhat squalid and wrong: Mariam was different, wasn't she? Every morning after she awoke Dante would bundle the sheets up and take them down to the washing machine. On sunny days the backyard would be filled with bleached bed linen, each with its own cryptic defiled stain he couldn't scrub out, fluttering on the clothesline. Dante had been forced to put plastic incontinence pads down to protect the mattress for even on the very first night she slept over she somehow managed to soak through every bed sheet and blanket, leaving a kidney-shaped stain that just wouldn't come out.

And because she wasn't like other girls it made all his emotions for her highly problematic. Why he was sexually attracted to her, he couldn't exactly tell. He definitely knew shouldn't be. If she had been elderly and debilitated then it would have been easy. He was a professional, he had worked his way through college as a nursing assistant on the dementia ward of a retirement home. He had taken care of his share of grandmothers, the old babushkas, washed and fed them, changed their diapers and not once did he entertain the sort of thoughts Mariam awoke in him. What made matters worse was that while Dante never saw himself as her legal guardian, per se, he couldn't separate the fact that he was responsible for her.

That, he knew, was what made this all sick and wrong.

But the squeaking bed springs, the sounds – audible even through the wall – of her fingers hard at work, the tell-tale smears every morning, the cries of "Oohh dear! Oohh dear!" How could anyone not be affected by all this? Dante was. His cock was. He sighed. He needed to stop this before things got out of hand. All it would take would be one moment of weakness on his part and then ... he shook his head. Then he would be in trouble.

Dante looked at the bedside clock: 1:23 in the morning. Gritting his teeth he opened his bedroom door and stepped out into the hall.

Mariam's door was ajar. It would never occur to her to get out of bed and close it. Privacy wasn't something Mariam had been taught. If Dante remembered to pull it shut after tucking her in it stayed shut. She had been known to get out of bed from time to time but usually because something had caught her attention and she wanted to investigate. Once he found her crouched in the bedroom's corner, inquisitively playing with the electric wall socket. He didn't think she could seriously hurt herself, but who really knew? He took her by the hand and led her back to bed. She followed happily, that silly look of hers all over her face.

Dante paused before knocking. He was horny. He knew he was horny and that would make everything so much more difficult. He had yet to cross that line, though he had been fantasizing about it for a while. "What am I about to do?" he thought to himself. He could hear the bed see-sawing under her weight, her short high-pitched cries, that scupping sound that reminded him of when you wade through the ooze in the bottom of a dry dock. Dante drew a deep breath and then knocked on the door.

There wasn't an immediate response. The bed springs still squeaked away. Apparently she hadn't heard him. He knocked a second time, then a third, before he heard movement. Mariam appeared, a bit flushed and out of breath. Her pupils were dilated and the nightgown he had dressed her in earlier now had betrayal pleasure stains visible everywhere her hands had been. Her nipples poked out through the fabric and Dante found he had been staring and checked himself.

"Er, sorry to interrupt," he began, and then, suddenly, he was only partially sorry. That was the problem, wasn't it? She was gorgeous. Even standing in the doorway in somebody else's nightgown he could feel his heart flutter and his cock bloat and get bigger and bigger in his boxers. Mariam's hair hung down a bit disheveled with a sheen of perspiration dotting her forehead. He glanced down at her fingertips. They were, indeed, wet and sticky.

"Oohh, it's okay," she blearily smiled, the way she did any time of the day or night when she saw him.

"Did I interrupt you in the middle of something?" Dante asked.

It was then the miraculous happened: her smile faltered. This amazed Dante, checking his libido in mid-throb. Mariam was never sad. In all the time he had known her she seemed as innocent and care-free and oblivious to the evils of the world as any of the Alzheimer's patients he once cared for. It was one of the reasons he put up with her endless nocturnal immersions. A look of infinite sadness crossed her deep brown eyes and suddenly, as absurd as it was, Dante knew he loved her and would do anything for her. He'd go to hell and back if she asked it of him.

"Can you help me?"

She grabbed his head and pulled him quickly into her bedroom.

She threw herself back on her bed, oblivious to the stains she had left earlier that evening.

"Please stay for a minute," she said, her ridiculous voice making her words sound like they were coming from a baby bird. Then, looking him in the eye, "Please, watch me. I need to cum."

That was unexpected.

"Er, what?" Dante asked; while he had never seen Mariam cum he had always assumed she orgasmed like clockwork, every night, if her bed linen was any indication.

"Something is wrong," she pleaded. "I'm so sticky, I need to cum but I can't. I can't and I want to cum so badly."

Dante stared at her. His cock was already pushing its way out of the front of his boxers.

"What do you mean?"

"I rub and rub and nothing happens. But I need it-- I need it so bad."

She looked at him with imploring eyes and sat back on the bed, gathering her nightgown's hem in one hand. Dante pulled a chair over to the foot of the bed, stroking his cock through the thin fabric of his underwear. "What the hell," he thought, whatever was about to happen wouldn't be the worse of his sins.

Mariam sat up with her goofy smile, splayed her legs and pulled the nightgown to her chin. She reached one hand into her soggy panties while the other went to her long, eraser-tip nipples, which she pinched and twisted intensely.

Having no shame she didn't blush or turn her head away as Dante's eyes roamed over her body. He saw her naked every day, of course. He helped her dress each morning. But that was different, since he could then almost pretend she was normal, like every other young woman who ever needed a little assistance in getting her skirt on straight, her bra fastened properly, her hair combed the way she liked it. Not like this.

Dante marveled at her cheek. Maybe it wasn't so surprising, she asked for his help in so many other things. He found that he was rubbing his cock gently through his boxers while his eyes were locked onto the crotch of her panties and her fingers hard at work inside.

"What do you want me to do?"

"Just watch-- just-- no! I want to see you too."

"You do?"

"Yes! Take it out, stroke it. I'm so muddy. I get so sticky when I've been playing with myself this long."

Dante pulled his rigid cock from his boxers. He held it up in the light so she could see him slowly caress himself up and down.

"Do you like that?" he asked.

Mariam just groaned and closed her eyes for a moment as she sped up the rhythm inside her second-hand undies.

"Do you love watching me?" she slurred and chirping. "I love knowing you are watching me."

"I love watching you, too, but I'd like to see a bit more."

Nodding, she disengaged her fingers and drew the quaggy fabric to one side. For all his instance that Mariam was different there were certain things she obviously possessed, just like every other woman on the planet. Her cunt was purposely hairless, her lips puffy and what lay between them shone like Mississippi river mud. Dante bent forward, enthralled at what she was willfully showing him.

"Can I taste you?" he asked.

"No. Please, just watch. Please, I want to cum. Please keep rubbing your cock. Show me, show me your cock--"

Her fingers had found that hard little nub that gave her so much pleasure. Dante could see it occasionally when she broke from rubbing it in circles to slide three fingers deep inside herself, up to the knuckles. He could hear the sloppiness of her caresses squelching away at her crotch. Her eyes alternated between staring into his and glued on his cock. Finally she closed them as she focused on her own building orgasm.

"Oohh dear, I'm going to cum so hard because you're here. Please, cum for me, too."

Dante stood up, using both hands for his own pleasure now. If he was going to cum with her she might as well get a show. No one else had ever done this with her. No one else had ever bothered to see if she even had desires of her own, either.

"Do you like me watching you? Do you like knowing you're going to make me cum?" he asked her.

Dante wanted to be inside her, to fill her, knowing he would be her first, her only, but another part of his brain kept that impulse in check. He was almost certain he would hurt her if he tried to push his cock into her cunt, no matter how wet she appeared. That was the last thing he ever wanted to do, cause this amazing creature pain.

Another stain was quickly forming around her rotund ass. "Oh my, so hot," Mariam moaned and with that, her hand seemed to get sucked deep between her legs, her hips locked, muck flew everywhere and her back arched up and off the bed. She howled and snarled and groaned as her orgasm washed over her.

Looking down at her, right at the brink, Dante stepped closer. She was still working her cunt with her hands. He was almost there. "Mariam, Mariam, I'm gonna cum, too." Time slowed down. Mariam's jaw sagged open, her eyes rolled up into her skull and she made that odd guttering sound that long nights of listening to her masturbate let him know she was cumming like a volcanic mud slide.

"Cum on me, do it. Please cum on my face. I wanna do it again, do it for me," she urged him on, crawling to the edge of the bed.

"Do you love me?" he gasped the words out.

The girl made from clay looked up at him, at his throbbing cock inches from her face, and smiled.

"Of course I do, silly," she said.

With that, Dante's cock erupted, spraying sticky warmth all over her face and neck. She gave a delighted, high-pitched laugh and raised her fingers to feel where his sperm landed. Cum fascinated her. For all her constant masturbating, she had nothing inside that would allow her to squirt the way flesh and blood girls could. She would simply take the tube of anal lube she kept by her bedside and turn the bone-dry skin between her legs into a frothy mess. Being made out of river clay, at first he had worried that so much rubbing would erode her down to nothing but apparently the spell that animated her kept her solid and together as well. Sure, she made a terrible mess when she got wet and excited but that was to be expected if you were to have a Golem as a house mate.

He had often wondered why the rabbi who had brought this particular clod of clay to life had decided to put her "shem," the little tablet on which the Ineffable Name was written, between her legs, poking out of her cunt like a clit. Traditionally it was placed in the mouth, but Mariam was far from traditional. Remove a Golem's shem and it reverts back to the river clay from which it was made. Thankfully, the rabbi who crafted Mariam was gifted in more than just Talmud power and kabbalistic wisdom, he had been a sculpture to rival Auguste Rodin.

Mariam rolled over on her back and sighed deeply. Her eyes were drooping. Dante climbed into the dirty sheets with her and snuggled up behind, spooning, his semi-rigid cock pressed between the cleft of her ass.

"Relax, lover, go to sleep."

Lover?

He liked the sound of that. She kept whispering his name until her breathing was deep and steady. When Dante kissed her naked shoulder he could taste a faint alkaline fragrance. When she began her small, girlish snores he climbed out of bed and moved silently to the doorway to the shower, leaving a new stain behind. Cum mixed with mud.

Dante sighed. Things were, indeed, changing.