This erotic short story was written for SnakkOmSex. If you would like to read Norwegian language stories click here.
For more English language stories click here.

I was halfway through this godawful kebab at some dingy little spot on Prinsessegade in Christiania, Copenhagen, when I caught her staring at me from across this beat-up picnic table. Not even trying to hide it, either. Her eyes were just glued to me, like I’d stiffed her on a bet or something. Look, I’m no catch, thirty-eight, got a bit of a belly, hair’s basically packing its bags, so I figured she was just zoned out or high on whatever’s always floating around here. Christiania’s got that vibe, you know? This odd little hippie bubble right in the city where nobody gives a damn about rules. Half the folks are either slinging hash or buying it. Place reeks of weed and greasy food all day, every day. Anyway, I wiped some sauce off my chin with a napkin and gave her a quick nod, like, what’s your problem? She didn’t smile, didn’t look away. Just kept staring. Later, I’d find out her name was Freja. Pretty standard Danish name, nothing flashy. She looked late twenties, pale as a ghost, with messy blonde hair tossed up in a bun that hadn’t seen a brush in forever. Not hot like some model, but there was something about her, sharp cheekbones, a small scar over her left eyebrow, like she’d taken a punch once. She had on this big, worn-out army jacket over a faded band tee, jeans ripped at the knees. Looked like she fit right in, like she’d been rolling joints down on Pusher Street since she was a kid. I took another bite of my kebab, greasy as hell, but dirt cheap, and thought I’d better say something before it got awkward. “Want a bite or what?” I said, waving the half-eaten wrap at her. My Danish isn’t great, but I’ve been in Copenhagen long enough to stumble through. I’m from the UK originally, moved here for a warehouse gig in Amager about five years ago, and just… stayed. Still got a bit of that Manchester accent, which either cracks people up or pisses them off. Freja smirked, finally breaking that creepy stare. “Nah, I’m good,” she said, her voice low, kinda rough, like she’d smoked one too many. She was holding a beer, some cheap Tuborg from the kiosk nearby, and took a long pull before leaning forward on her elbows. “You’re not from around here, are you?” “No kidding,” I said, still chewing. “Been here a while, though. Long enough to know this place is a bloody mess.” I waved a hand at the graffiti all over the walls, the heap of bikes by the Green Light District entrance, the faint sound of some guy butchering a guitar tune by the lake. Christiania’s got this wild, messy energy, half commune, half drug den, but food and drinks are cheap, so I keep coming back more than I probably should. She let out a quick, sharp laugh. “Yeah, it’s a dump. But it’s home.” She tilted her head, giving me another once-over. “What’s your name, anyway?” “Mark,” I said. Nothing fancy there. “You?” “Freja.” No handshake, no nothing, just kept sipping her beer. We sat there for a bit, not really talking, just watching the crowd. There were these tourists nearby, snapping selfies by a mural of some naked chick with a joint, acting like they’d stumbled into paradise or something. I rolled my eyes, and Freja caught it, snorting into her can. “Morons,” she muttered. “They show up thinking it’s all peace and love, then get their wallets snatched.” “Seen it happen,” I said. “A mate of mine lost his phone last year by the skate park. Didn’t even notice till he was back at his hotel.” We kept chatting like that, just random stuff about the area, the weirdos around, how the cops roll in sometimes acting like they’ll shut everything down, then just vanish. I finished my kebab, balled up the wrapper, and chucked it at the overflowing bin a few feet away. Missed, naturally. Typical. Freja didn’t say a word about it, just kept looking at me with that same expression, like she was trying to piece something together. “Got plans tonight?” she asked out of the blue, throwing me off. I almost said something lame like, “Nah, just gonna go home and play FIFA,” but I caught myself. There was something in how she asked, not flirty, exactly, but straight-up. Like she wasn’t just killing time. “Depends,” I said, leaning back on the bench, trying to act cool even though I probably looked like a sweaty disaster. “What’s the deal?” She shrugged, finished her beer, and crushed the can in her hand. “Dunno. Figured you might wanna hang. Got a friend with a spot near here, over by Refshaleøen. Usually got some people around, decent tunes, cheap drinks. Beats sitting here with the tourists.” I glanced around. The sun was starting to drop, throwing long shadows over the dirt paths and rickety stalls. I didn’t have a damn thing to do, and honestly, I was curious. Freja didn’t seem like the type to waste time on boring nonsense. Plus, Refshaleøen’s just a short bike ride away, used to be an old shipyard, now it’s all artsy warehouses and random pop-up bars. I’ve been to a few parties there, usually end up hammered and hating myself the next morning. “Alright, why not,” I said, standing up and brushing some crumbs off my jeans. “You got a bike, or we walking?” “I’ve got one,” she said, nodding toward a beat-up old cruiser parked near the Prinsessegade entrance. “You can hop on the back if you don’t mind looking like an idiot.” I laughed, couldn’t help it. “Mate, I gave up caring about that ages ago.” We headed over to her bike, weaving through a bunch of stoned kids passing a joint near the Nemoland bar. The air was heavy with the smell of hash and grilled meat, and I could hear someone yelling in Danish about a lost dog or whatever.

Freja didn’t even seem to notice me standing there, fumbling like a total moron. She just unlocked her bike, swung a leg over it like it was second nature, no big deal. I clambered on the back, feeling like a complete idiot, my hands kinda hovering for a sec before I just gripped the edge of the seat. Didn’t wanna make it awkward by grabbing onto her or whatever. “Hold on, dumbass,” she tossed over her shoulder, not even bothering to look at me. “I’m not slowing down just ‘cause you’re back there.” I grumbled under my breath but slid an arm around her waist anyway, trying not to overthink it. Her jacket reeked of smoke and worn-out leather, and damn, she was all bones under it. She started pedaling, cutting through the tight little paths in Christiania, heading for the bridge out to Refshaleøen. The wind hit my face, cold as hell, and I squinted as we rolled under the streetlights along Christianshavns Voldgade. The city was waking up, lights flickering on around us. It didn’t take long to get there, maybe ten minutes, even with her weaving through traffic like a total maniac. Refshaleøen’s got this weird, abandoned feel to it, with rusty cranes and beat-up warehouses everywhere, but there’s still something alive in the gaps, y’know? We pulled up outside this old shipping container turned into some sketchy bar, fairy lights slung up all sloppy around the entrance. I could hear the bass thumping from inside, and a few folks were out front, smoking and passing a bottle of who-knows-what between them. Freja locked her bike to some rusted pole, then turned to me, hands shoved deep in her jacket pockets. “This is the spot. My buddy Kasper sorta runs it. Don’t be a dick, and we’re fine.” I shrugged, half-grinning. “No promises.” She just rolled her eyes and headed for the door. I tagged along, feeling a little out of my depth but also kinda hyped, like something was brewing. Not sure what, though. There was this tension, just under the surface, in the way she kept throwing glances at me, the way she didn’t bother with small talk or any of that nonsense.

Inside, the place was a mess, packed tight with sweaty bodies, cheap beer everywhere, some godawful techno track shaking the walls. I stuck close to Freja as she shoved through the crowd, making a beeline for the back where I figured this guy Kasper was pouring drinks behind some flimsy folding table. I had no clue what the night was gonna turn into, but I had this gut feeling it wasn’t just gonna be about downing a couple drinks. Something about Freja, the way she moved, the way she looked at me like she already had some kinda plan, yeah, I was in for something. Just couldn’t put my finger on it yet. The air in that shipping container bar was thick, stinking of spilled beer and cigarette smoke. The bass was so loud it rattled my chest, some generic techno beat that nobody really cared about but everyone still kinda moved to. Freja led the way, shoulders hunched like she’d done this a hundred times, just cutting through the chaos. I followed, trying not to knock into too many people, but it was tight, elbows and shoulders brushing me, some girl with glitter smeared on her face almost dumping her drink on my shirt. I mumbled a quick “sorry,” but she didn’t even blink. At the back, behind this beat-up folding table covered in sticky beer rings, was Kasper. Had to be him. Lanky dude, maybe mid-thirties, rocking a patchy beard and a faded Nirvana tee that looked like it’d seen better days. He was pouring shots of something clear, probably cheap-ass vodka, from a plastic bottle into random mismatched glasses. Freja leaned over the table, said something to him I couldn’t catch over the music, and he grinned, giving me a nod like I was some weird exhibit. I nodded back, not really knowing what the hell to say.

“Two beers,” Freja yelled, holding up two fingers. Kasper slid over a couple cans of Carlsberg, the cheap stuff you grab at Netto for like ten kroner a six-pack. She handed me one, her fingers brushing mine for half a second, and I cracked it open, taking a big swig. It was lukewarm, tasted like absolute piss, but whatever, I didn’t care. The place was hot as hell, and I was already sweating through my jacket. We found a spot by the wall, away from the worst of the crowd, leaning against some rusty metal panel that was probably part of the original container. Freja didn’t say much at first, just sipped her beer and scanned the room, her eyes darting over the chaos of people dancing or yelling at each other. I stood there, feeling kinda awkward, not sure if I should talk or just keep my mouth shut. But that weird tension from earlier, that unspoken thing between us, was still hanging there. Every time she glanced at me, it felt like she was sizing me up, waiting for me to either step up or screw up. “You come here a lot?” I asked, shouting over the music. Dumb question, I know, but I had to say something. She shrugged, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “When I’m bored. Kasper’s cool, doesn’t charge much. Beats those overpriced joints in Nørrebro.” I nodded, taking another sip. “Yeah, last time I was in Nørrebro, I dropped like sixty kroner on a pint. Straight-up robbery.” She smirked, the scar on her face catching the faint glow from the fairy lights overhead. “Tourist trap. Stick to dives like this, you won’t get screwed over.” She paused for a beat, then added, “Or just hang with me. I know the good spots.” There it was again, that bluntness. Not flirty, not really, but it still hit me right in the gut. I looked at her, trying to figure out what she meant, but she just stared back, unblinking, like she was daring me to say something stupid. I didn’t.

So, yeah, I just kinda grinned, probably looking like a total dumbass, and mumbled, “Guess I’ll hang around a bit longer.” We knocked back the rest of our beers pretty fast after that. Kasper didn’t even ask, just chucked another round our way like it was no big deal. The music switched up to something slower, still loud as hell, but with this deep, heavy beat that made the whole floor shake under us. More folks started getting close, grinding on each other in the middle of the room, not giving a damn who saw. Freja didn’t seem to care either, but I noticed her sneaking looks at me more often, inching a bit closer. Our shoulders were basically brushing now, and I could smell her, yeah, smoke, obviously, but also something sharp, like cheap shampoo mixed with sweat. Not gross, just… real, y’know?

I’m not even sure who made the first move. Could’ve been me, could’ve been her. But next thing I know, her hand’s on my arm, not grabbing or anything, just kinda resting there, her fingers rough against my skin even through my shirt. My heart started pounding a little faster, but I tried to play it cool, turning my head to look at her. She wasn’t smiling, just staring at me with that same intense look from before, her lips slightly open. Man, I wanted to kiss her right then and there, but I didn’t wanna be *that* guy, y’know? Didn’t wanna read it wrong and make things awkward as hell. Then, out of nowhere, she cuts through the noise with, “You’re thinking too much.” She steps even closer, her hip brushing mine, and I swear I felt this zap, like electricity or some crap. “Stop it.”

“Stop what?” I said, but my voice came out all scratchy, quieter than I meant. She didn’t bother answering. Instead, she grabbed the front of my jacket, not rough, just firm enough to pull me in, and then her mouth was on mine. It wasn’t soft or sweet or any of that sappy stuff, just raw and hungry, her lips kinda chapped, tasting like beer and salt. I kissed her back, probably harder than I should’ve, one hand sliding to her waist, the other kinda hovering for a sec before I just thought, screw it, and gripped the back of her neck. Her hair was all messy under my fingers, sticky with sweat from the heat in this packed room.

We stumbled a little, backing into the wall, the cold metal hitting my shoulder through my jacket. Her tongue pushed into my mouth, kinda sloppy but not holding back, and I groaned without even meaning to, already half-hard just from the way she pressed up against me. I’m pretty sure she felt it, ‘cause she shifted her hips, grinding just enough to make my brain short-circuit for a second. I pulled back, breathing heavy, trying to get a hold of myself, but she wasn’t having it. Her hand slid down, bold as hell, palming me right through my jeans in the middle of this grimy-ass bar. “Fuck, Freja,” I muttered, my voice all over the place, glancing around to check if anyone was staring. Nobody gave a shit, everyone was too drunk or high or caught up in their own mess. Still, it felt wild, dirty in a way that just got me going even more.

“Shut up,” she said, her breath hot against my ear. Then she bit my earlobe, not hard, but enough to sting a bit, and I hissed, my hand tightening on her hip. Her jacket was open now, and I could feel the heat of her through that thin band tee, her chest pressing against mine as she got closer. I wanted to touch her everywhere, but I didn’t even know where to start, my hands fumbling like I’m some clueless teenager again. She didn’t wait for me to figure it out, though. She grabbed my wrist and guided my hand under her shirt, up her stomach. Her skin was warm, kinda sticky with sweat, and I felt the edge of her bra, some cheap cotton thing, as my fingers brushed over her ribs. She made this quiet little sound, barely loud enough to hear over the music, when I slid my hand up higher, cupping her through the fabric. Her nipple was already hard, pressing into my palm, and I rubbed my thumb over it, just testing, watching her face. Her eyes half-closed, but she didn’t push me away, just leaned into it, like she wanted more.

I was fully hard now, straining against my jeans, and she damn well knew it. Her hand was still on me, rubbing slow through the denim, driving me up the freaking wall. I leaned in, kissing her again, all messy and desperate, my other hand sliding down to grab her ass, pulling her tight against me. Her jeans were tight, worn thin at the seams, and I could feel her shape through them, firm but a little bony. She ground into me harder, her breath catching, and I could smell her even more now, that mix of sweat and something musky, raw, coming off her skin.

We needed to move, get outta the open or something, but neither of us seemed to care enough to stop. She popped the button on my jeans, her fingers clumsy but not backing off, and I froze for a split second, my brain trying to catch up. I didn’t have a condom on me, hadn’t even thought about it, and I had no clue if she gave a damn either. But before I could say a word, her hand was inside, past the waistband of my boxers, wrapping around me. Holy shit, her grip was tight, rough, no messing around, just straight to it. I groaned, my head dropping to her shoulder, trying not to completely lose it as she stroked me, slow at first, then picking up, her thumb brushing over the tip where I was already kinda leaking.

I pushed her shirt up higher, showing more of her pale skin, and ducked down to suck at her neck, tasting salt and smoke. My hand slid lower, fumbling with the button on her jeans, and she didn’t stop me, just shifted her hips a bit to make it easier. I got it open, slipped my fingers inside, past the plain elastic of her underwear, nothing fancy, no lace or whatever, and felt the heat of her, the dampness already there.

Man, she was so wet, slippery under my fingers as I fumbled around her clit, not quite sure what I was doing at first, just trying to figure out what got her going. Her breath hitched, this sharp little gasp, and she grabbed my shoulder, nails biting into me right through my shirt. We were a total mess, kinda hidden by the crowd but not really, breathing hard, hands all over each other like we couldn’t hold off for even a second longer. I slid a finger inside her, feeling how tight and warm she was, all slick, and she let out this low, growly sound that went straight to my dick. I wanted to just pin her against the wall and fuck her right there, didn’t give a shit who saw us, but some tiny part of me was still yelling to slow the hell down, think about what we were doing. Not like I listened to that voice. I added another finger, moving slow, feeling her tighten around me as her hips pushed into my hand, and her grip on my cock got tighter, stroking me harder. I could barely keep my head on straight, my fingers working inside her, her pussy squeezing me as she rocked against me.

Freja’s breathing was all ragged, hot against my neck, and her hand on my dick was relentless, jerking me with these rough, uneven pulls that had me clenching my jaw to keep from losing it too quick. My jeans were halfway down my thighs by now, boxers shoved just far enough, and her jeans were unzipped, hanging low on her hips. We looked like a damn disaster, pressed up against the grimy metal wall of this shitty bar in Refshaleøen, the bass of the music thumping through us while sweaty people danced around like nothing weird was going on. I pulled my fingers out of her, all slick with her wetness, and wiped them on my shirt without even thinking about it, just needing a damn second to get my head together. But nah, she wasn’t having that. Her hand stopped on my dick, gripping the base hard, and she stared at me with those sharp, half-closed eyes, lips all swollen from making out, sweat shining on her forehead. “Back room,” she muttered, barely loud enough over the noise, nodding toward some dark corner past Kasper’s half-assed bar setup. I didn’t argue, didn’t have it in me. My heart was hammering, dick throbbing in her hand, and I just nodded like an idiot, yanking my jeans up enough so I wouldn’t trip over my own damn feet.

She let go of me, zipped her jeans up halfway, and grabbed my wrist, pulling me through the crowd. Nobody really noticed, too drunk or high to give a crap, though I swear some dude with a man-bun smirked at me as we went by. Screw that guy. We pushed past a couple making out by a stack of crates, and Freja shoved open this flimsy plywood door that looked like it’d been kicked in a few too many times. The back room? More like a freaking storage closet, barely enough space for two of us, stinking of old beer and something sour I didn’t even wanna think about. One flickering bulb hung overhead, throwing creepy shadows on the cracked concrete walls, with a pile of empty kegs shoved in the corner. No lock on the door, just some rusty latch that probably wouldn’t hold if anyone decided to barge in. Didn’t matter. The second we were in, Freja pushed me against the wall, her hands tugging at my jeans again, yanking them down past my knees this time. My cock sprang out, hard as hell and aching, and she didn’t mess around, dropping to her knees on that filthy floor like it was no big deal.

“Fuck,” I breathed out, my hands going to her messy bun without even thinking as she took me in her mouth. No teasing, no slow build, just straight in, her lips tight around me, tongue flicking over the tip before she sucked hard. It was messy as hell, wet, her spit running down as she moved her head, one hand on my thigh, the other working whatever she couldn’t fit. I groaned, way louder than I meant to, my head banging back against the wall. Her mouth was hot, rough in the best damn way, and I felt every little graze of her teeth, every sloppy swirl of her tongue. Up close, she smelled like sweat and beer, her hair sticking to her neck, and I didn’t give a shit about any of it, just the way she was sucking me off like she had a point to make. No way I was gonna last long with her going at it like that. My balls were already tightening, that pressure building fast, and I tugged at her hair a bit, trying to give her a heads-up. “Freja, I’m gonna, ” I started, but she just hummed around me, the vibration hitting me like a damn freight train, and kept going, faster, her hand jerking me at the base. I came hard, no holding it back, hips jerking as I spilled into her mouth, groaning through gritted teeth. She didn’t pull away, just took it, swallowing most of it, a little dripping down her chin as she finally let me go with a wet pop.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, looking up at me with this smug, fucked-out look, breathing heavy. I was still trying to catch my breath, legs all shaky, when she got up, brushing dirt off her knees like it was nothing. My jeans were still around my thighs, cock softening, sticky with spit and cum, and I felt like a dumbass just standing there. But she didn’t give me a chance to overthink it. She shoved her own jeans down, kicking them off one leg with her boots still on, and I caught a glimpse of her underwear, plain grey cotton, a little damp, before she yanked those down too. Her pussy was right there, pale skin, a neat little patch of blonde hair, lips swollen and shiny from earlier. My mouth went dry, even after just coming, and my dick twitched like it was ready for round two. “C’mon,” she said, her voice all rough, stepping closer and grabbing my hand, shoving it between her legs. She was soaking, hot against my fingers, and I rubbed at her clit again, harder this time, watching her face as her eyes fluttered shut for a split second.

So, she had one hand on my shoulder, kinda steadying herself, while the other was digging around in her jacket pocket for something. Turned out to be a condom, thank God for that. She ripped the packet open with her teeth, just spat the foil onto the floor like she didn’t give a damn, and rolled it onto me with these quick, no-nonsense fingers. I was already half-hard again, and her touch? Yeah, that got me the rest of the way real fast, my dick stiffening up in the latex as she gave it a couple of rough tugs. She didn’t even give me a chance to think about how this was gonna work. Just turned around, slapped both hands on the wall, bent over a little, her skinny ass sticking out, pale as hell in the dim light. “Fuck me,” she said, straight up, no messing around, throwing a look over her shoulder like I was dragging my feet.

I stepped up behind her, one hand on her hip, the other guiding myself to where I needed to be. Man, she was tight, even after the fingering from earlier. I went slow at first, feeling her stretch around me, all hot and wet even through the condom. She hissed a bit, shifting her hips back to take more of me, and I couldn’t help it, I groaned, gripping her tighter as I slid all the way in. It wasn’t some smooth, romantic crap. Nah, I fucked her hard and fast, the angle all weird with her boots still on and my jeans half-down, kinda tripping me up. Her ass slapped against me with every thrust, loud as hell in that tiny-ass room, mixing with her sharp little gasps and my grunts. I could smell her, all musky and raw, blending with the stale air and the latex. It was messy, you know? Sweat was dripping down my back, her shirt was all bunched up to her ribs, and my hands were digging into her bony hips like I was holding on for dear life.

She pushed back against me, matching every move, and then dropped one hand from the wall to rub at herself, her fingers brushing against me as I kept going. “Harder,” she snapped, her voice all strained and rough, and hell, I wasn’t gonna argue. I slammed into her until my thighs were burning, that pressure building up again way too damn fast. I had no clue if she was close or not, but her breathing was all over the place, her movements jerky as hell, and then she clenched around me, tight as fuck. A low moan slipped out of her as she came, and that was it for me. Even with the condom dulling shit a little, I was done for. I thrust a few more times, all uneven and sloppy, before coming again, my vision going spotty for a second as I gripped her hips way too hard.

We just stayed like that for, I dunno, ten seconds maybe? Both of us panting, my dick still inside her, softening fast. Then she straightened up, nudging me off with her elbow, not in a mean way, just like, “Alright, we’re done.” I pulled out, the condom all slick and gross, tied it off, and tossed it into the corner with the rest of the trash in that dump. Real classy, right? She yanked her underwear and jeans back up, not even glancing at me, just fixing herself like this was no big deal, just another Tuesday. I pulled my own jeans up, zipping them with shaky hands, my legs still feeling like absolute jelly. She finally turned around, hair all messed up, face flushed, but there was no softness in her eyes, no lingering bullshit. “Gonna grab a smoke,” she said, her voice flat as hell, already rummaging in her jacket for a pack of cigarettes. “You coming or what?” I just shrugged, wiping the sweat off my forehead with my sleeve. “Yeah, sure.” Didn’t really know what else to say, you know?

We shoved our way out of that back room, and the music hit us like a damn wall. I followed her outside into the cold air of Refshaleøen. She lit up a smoke, offered me one, and I took it even though I don’t usually do that shit. First drag burned my throat like a bitch, and I coughed like a total dumbass, staring off at these rusted cranes in the distance while some drunk dude pissed against a shipping container nearby. Freja didn’t say a word, just smoked in silence, and I figured that was that, whatever the hell this even was. Then my phone buzzed in my pocket. A text from my buddy, asking if I’d seen his bike outside some bar in Christiania. Fucking typical, man. I snorted, flicked the cigarette butt into the dirt, and didn’t even bother replying.