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.

So, I was halfway through this godawful kebab at this tiny dive called Ali’s Döner on Prins Hendrikstraat in Enschede, Netherlands, when I first spotted her. Man, that place reeked of burnt grease and old beer, and those fluorescent lights? They made everyone look like zombies. I’d just finished a brutal double shift at the warehouse on Industriestraat, and my back was killing me from dragging crates around all day. Honestly, I didn’t even wanna be out, but my fridge was a ghost town, and I’m not exactly a chef, ya know? So there I was, shoving down this overpriced pile of meat and soggy bread, when I noticed her staring at me from a corner table. Didn’t know her name was Marit yet, but she had this vibe, short, messy blonde hair, a nose ring catching the light, and a beat-up hoodie that’d definitely seen better days. She wasn’t some stunning model or anything, just a regular girl, maybe late twenties, with a sharp kinda face and eyes that barely blinked. She was with some guy, Thijs, I’d learn later, her on-again-off-again whatever. He was this tall, lanky dude with a scruffy beard and a beanie pulled down too low, sipping a cheap beer and scrolling on his phone like he couldn’t care less about life. They weren’t chatting much, just sitting there, but her eyes kept darting over to me. Not sneaky about it, either. Like she was either checking me out or just bored outta her skull.

Look, I ain’t exactly a catch, alright? I’m just some dude named Bram, pushing thirty, born and raised in Enschede in one of those dull row houses off Oldenzaalsestraat. Got a decent gig at the warehouse, keeps the bills paid, but I ain’t living some fancy dream life. I’ve got a few tattoos, nothing cool, just stupid stuff I got when I was young and hammered. Hair’s thinning a bit, and I probably stink of sweat and cardboard half the time. My gut’s starting to show too, too many late-night munchies and not enough gym. Point is, women don’t usually stare at me. So when Marit kept looking, I figured she was either messing around or had some weird reason. I finished my kebab, wiped the grease off my chin with a crummy napkin, and decided, screw it, I’ll stare back. Not in a creepy way, just… curious, ya know? She didn’t look away. If anything, her mouth kinda twitched, like she was daring me to make a move or something. Thijs? Didn’t notice a damn thing, still glued to his phone, probably on some dumb app or texting who-knows-who. The air felt weird, not bad weird, just… tense. Like you know something’s about to go down, but you got no clue what. I suck at reading people, always have, but I could tell she wasn’t just killing time with those looks.

Ali’s Döner ain’t no fancy spot, by the way. It’s this cramped little joint near the train station, stuck between a vape shop and a laundromat with machines that never work. The walls are plastered with these faded Istanbul posters or whatever, and the counter’s always sticky, no matter how much they scrub it. There’s like ten tables, half of ‘em wobbly as hell, and the crowd’s mostly delivery guys or drunks grabbing a quick bite. Not a place you hang out in, but I didn’t have anywhere else to go, and honestly, I was kinda curious about whatever game Marit was playing. So I got up, grabbed another cheap Grolsch can from the fridge by the counter, ‘cause I ain’t fancy, and when I turned back, she was still watching me. This time, she leaned over, whispered something to Thijs real quiet-like. He just shrugged, didn’t even look up. No idea what she said, but it made her smirk, and then she got up and walked to the counter like she was gonna order. She didn’t, though. Just stood there, pretending to read the menu board, even though it’s been the same damn thing for years.

I popped open my beer, took a swig, and thought, alright, might as well say something. I ain’t smooth, never have been, so I just blurted out, “You got a staring problem or what?” Yeah, real charming, I know, but I was wiped after twelve hours of lifting boxes. She laughed, this quick, sharp sound, and turned to me. Up close, I could see her eyes were this pale blue, kinda washed out, and she had a tiny scar on her chin, barely there. “Nah, just wondering why you’re eating that crap alone,” she said, nodding at the empty kebab wrapper on my table. Her voice had a little rasp, like she smoked too much, and her Dutch had that Twente accent, same as mine. Felt familiar, like she grew up around here too. “Didn’t know I needed company to eat shitty food,” I fired back, leaning on the counter. I wasn’t really flirting, just… keeping it going, ya know? I glanced at Thijs, still clueless at their table. “Your boy over there don’t seem to care you’re talking to me.”

She snorted, crossing her arms. “Thijs? He’s too busy whining to his ex on WhatsApp to notice anything. Besides, I ain’t talking to you like that. Just making conversation.” But the way she said it, with this little half-smile, made it pretty clear she wasn’t just chit-chatting. There was something there, some kinda spark or challenge or whatever. I ain’t dumb, I could feel it, even if I didn’t know what the hell it was. We just stood there for a sec, not saying much, kinda sizing each other up. The hum of the fridge and the random yells from Ali in the back kitchen were the only sounds. I took another sip of my beer, and she finally grabbed a can of Fanta from the fridge, popping it open like she needed something to do with her hands.

“You from around here?” she asked, kinda offhand, but her eyes were glued to mine, not backing off for a second. “Yeah, just off Oldenzaalsestraat. Lived here basically forever. How ‘bout you?” “Same deal. Over by Volkspark, in one of those shitty apartments near the Lidl. You know ‘em, always reeks of burnt toast or something.” She took a sip of her drink, then threw in, “Oh, I’m Marit, by the way.” “Bram,” I said with a quick nod. Didn’t bother with a handshake or any of that, just kept it chill. “So, what’s the story with you and phone guy over there? You two a thing, or just passing time?” She shrugged, glancing back at Thijs, who was still lost in his own little world. “Eh, something like that. We’ve been on and off for ages. Mostly off these days. He’s fine, just… kinda boring, you know?” She said it super casual, like she was chatting about the weather or some lame show, but there was this edge to her voice, like she was itching for something to happen, anything to break the monotony. I didn’t really know how to respond, so I just grunted and took another gulp of my beer. I’m no shrink, and I wasn’t about to dive into her drama. Still, I couldn’t help but notice how close she’d gotten, way closer than you’d expect for two randoms just talking. Her hoodie sleeve grazed my arm, and I caught this whiff, cigarette smoke mixed with some cheap perfume, nothing fancy, just… real. My heart picked up a bit, not ‘cause I was smitten or anything stupid like that, but there was this weird tension building, like we were both waiting for the other to do something, anything.

Before I could come up with something to say, Thijs finally looked up from his phone, squinting over at us like he just noticed Marit wasn’t at the table. “Yo, Marit, we heading out or what?” he called, his voice flat, like he couldn’t care less either way. She rolled her eyes, didn’t even bother turning to look at him, just kept her gaze on me. “Guess I gotta handle that,” she said, jerking her thumb in his direction. But she didn’t budge right away. Instead, she whipped out her phone, tapped something real quick, and then looked back at me. “Gimme your number. Maybe we’ll bump into each other again. Or whatever.” I paused for like half a second, not ‘cause I didn’t wanna give it, but ‘cause this felt like stepping into some messy territory. I’m not great with messy. But then I just shrugged and spit out my digits while she punched them in. She didn’t say thanks or anything, just gave me this quick little nod, like we’d agreed on something without saying it, and then turned to head back to Thijs. I watched her walk off, her sneakers scuffing on the sticky floor, and this weird mix of curiosity and wariness settled in my stomach. Thijs got up, looking half-asleep as usual, and they made for the door. She tossed one last glance over her shoulder at me. The bell above the door jingled as they left, and there I was, alone again with my empty beer can and the background hum of Ali’s Döner.

I didn’t know what the hell just went down, but I had a feeling it wasn’t done. Not even close. I sat there a bit longer after Marit and Thijs took off, just staring at the crumpled kebab wrapper on my table like it was gonna tell me something. The buzz from the Grolsch was starting to creep in, just a light hum in my head, but enough to make me antsy. Ali was yelling at someone in the back, probably one of his cousins who’s always screwing up orders, and the fluorescent lights kept flickering like they were on their last legs. I should’ve just paid up and headed home, crashed on my lumpy-ass couch with some random YouTube video on, but I couldn’t get Marit’s look out of my head. Like she saw something in me worth messing with. I was halfway through debating whether to grab another beer when my phone buzzed on the table. Unknown number. I figured it was spam, always some jerk trying to sell me insurance or whatever, but when I checked the text, it was her. “Meet me at Volkspark in 20. By the old fountain. Ditch the beer breath.” No hey, no nonsense, just straight to it. My stomach did a little flip, not from nerves or any mushy crap, just pure curiosity. I didn’t even know if Thijs was still with her or if she’d already ditched him, but I wasn’t gonna sit here overthinking it.

I paid Ali, tossed a couple euros on the counter, and stepped out into the cool night air. Prins Hendrikstraat was pretty quiet for a Friday, just a few bikes rattling past and some drunk students laughing way too loud near the station. I popped a piece of gum from my pocket to mask the beer, not that I cared much, and started walking toward Volkspark. It’s not far, like a ten-minute walk if you cut through the back streets by the Saxion Hogeschool campus. The park’s this old, kinda beat-up place with cracked paths and benches covered in graffiti, but it’s got a strange vibe at night when the streetlights barely do their job. That fountain she mentioned? Hasn’t worked in forever, just a dry concrete basin caked with pigeon crap, but everybody knows the spot. I got there a couple minutes early, hands stuffed in my jacket pockets, my breath fogging a little in the cold. The park was dead quiet except for some guy smoking on a bench way over by the playground, too far to even notice me. I leaned against the fountain’s edge, feeling the rough concrete through my jeans, and checked my phone. No new texts. I wasn’t even sure if she’d show, or if this was some weird game she was playing, but then I heard footsteps crunching on the gravel path. I looked up, and there she was, hoodie zipped up tight, hands in her pockets just like me, walking over with that same sharp look in her eyes.

“Thought you’d chicken out,” she said, stopping just a couple steps away from me. No grin or anything, just that same half-taunting vibe in her voice. Her blonde hair was all messy, poking out from under her hood, and that nose ring of hers glinted a little in the faint light from a streetlamp nearby. I shrugged, playing it cool. “Didn’t have anything better going on,” I said. “Where’s your guy at?” “Left him back at the station,” she replied, kicking at a stray pebble with her beat-up sneaker. “Told him I was meeting a friend. Didn’t even bother asking who.” She let out a short, bitter snort. “Not like he gives a damn anyway.” I just nodded, not really knowing what to say to that. We stood there for a moment, the silence heavy but not awkward, more like… charged, you know? I could smell that faint smoky scent on her clothes again, mixed with the wet, earthy smell of the park after a day of drizzle. My heart was racing, same as it was earlier at Ali’s place, and I could tell she felt it too. She stepped closer, real casual-like, acting like she was just shifting her weight, but suddenly she was right up in my space. Close enough that I could feel the warmth coming off her, even through all our layers.

“So, what’s this about?” I asked, keeping my tone steady. I’m not good at playing games or beating around the bush, so I just put it out there. “You didn’t drag me all the way out here to chat about the damn weather.” She let out a quick laugh, looking me straight in the eye. “Nah, I didn’t. Thought we’d see what happens when Thijs isn’t around to bore me to tears.” Her words just hung there, blunt as hell, and before I could even come up with a response, she reached out and grabbed the front of my jacket. Not rough, just firm enough to tug me a little closer. Her fingers were cold through the fabric, and I caught a whiff of her breath, mint gum, but with something sharper underneath, maybe vodka or cigarettes. I didn’t pull away. Didn’t want to. My hands moved without me thinking, one sliding to her waist through her hoodie, the other going up to her neck, feeling the short, prickly hairs at the nape under my thumb. Her skin was cool at first but warmed up quick, and she didn’t flinch, just tilted her head a little, like she was daring me to keep going. Look, I’m no angel, and I wasn’t about to act like I didn’t want this, whatever the hell “this” even was. So I leaned in, rough and fast, and kissed her hard. Her lips were chapped, kinda dry, but she pushed back just as hard, her tongue shoving into my mouth without any of that slow, teasing crap. It was messy as hell, teeth clacking a bit, her nose ring scraping against my cheek, but it felt… real. Raw. Like we were both just taking what we wanted, no bullshit.

She made a low sound in her throat, not some dramatic moan or anything, just a little grunt, like she was cool with it. Her hands slipped under my jacket, clawing at my shirt like she was trying to get to skin. I pushed her back against the edge of the fountain, the concrete probably digging into her through her jeans, but she didn’t say a word about it. My knee nudged between her legs, not planned, just happened, and she parted them a little, letting me press in closer. I could feel her hips shift, grinding against my thigh, and yeah, I was already half-hard in my jeans, no hiding it with the way it was straining against the zipper. Didn’t care if she noticed, and honestly, I’m pretty sure she did, ‘cause her hand dropped down, palming me through the fabric, rough and straight to the point, no messing around. My breath caught, and I bit her bottom lip a little too hard, tasting just a hint of metallic tang. “Fuck,” I muttered against her mouth, not trying to be smooth or poetic, just the first thing that popped out. She laughed, low and raspy, and squeezed me harder through my jeans, making my hips jerk forward without me meaning to. “Not yet,” she said, her voice thick, but her fingers were already fumbling with my belt, the metal buckle clinking loud in the quiet park. I glanced around real quick, making sure no one was nearby, just some smoker way off in the distance, not even looking our way. Honestly, though? I didn’t give a shit if we got caught.

My hands shoved under her hoodie, finding warm skin and the edge of some cheap bra, scratchy lace or whatever. Her chest wasn’t big, just a handful, but I didn’t care, just thumbed over her nipple through the fabric until she hissed and arched into me. She got my belt undone, zipper down, and her cold fingers slipped into my boxers, wrapping around me with zero hesitation. I groaned, louder than I meant to, ‘cause her grip was tight, almost too much, but damn if it didn’t feel good. I was fully hard now, leaking a little, and she smeared it with her thumb, making me twitch in her hand. I could smell my own sweat, sharp and musky, mixing with hers, and the damp grass all around us. Nothing sexy or romantic about it, just… real. Gritty. Like everything else about this. I yanked her jeans button open, tugged the zipper down in one rough pull, and shoved my hand inside, past the elastic of her underwear. She was already wet, slick against my fingers, and I rubbed over her clit, a bit clumsy at first ‘cause I couldn’t see a damn thing in the dark, but she rocked into it, guiding me with her hips. Felt her heat, soft, the short, rough hair under my palm. Slid a finger in, then two, feeling her tighten around me, and she bit my shoulder through my jacket, muffling a sharp breath.

We were half-tangled now, her stroking me slow and hard, me fingering her with no real rhythm, just desperate to keep this going. I pushed her harder against the fountain, her back arching over the edge, and she hooked one leg around my waist, pulling me in tighter. My cock was out now, boxers shoved down just enough, and the cool air hit it for a split second before her hand was back, jerking me with quick, uneven strokes.

Man, I wanted to just go for it right there with her, no condom, no nothing, just raw and dumb as hell. But, like, some tiny part of my brain was still kinda working, holding me back. Not because of some high-and-mighty morals or anything, nah, I just didn’t wanna deal with the mess afterward, you know? I grunted out, “Got anything?” while nodding down at where our hands were all over each other. My voice sounded rough, all messed up with how bad I wanted her, and honestly, I didn’t even care. She shook her head, breathing heavy as hell. “No. You?” “Nah,” I muttered, cussing under my breath. But she didn’t stop moving her hand, and neither did I. We were way too far gone to just hit the brakes, caught up in the heat, the need, the pure stupidity of it all. I pushed my fingers deeper into her, curling them a little, and she gasped, her grip on me tightening ‘til it almost hurt. With my other hand, I yanked her hoodie up higher, baring her stomach to the cold air, then bent down to drag my mouth over her skin, tasting salt and a faint hint of soap.

We were a total wreck, half-dressed, grinding against each other like a couple of idiots right in the middle of Volkspark. The only sounds were our heavy breathing and the occasional rustle of leaves around us. I had no clue how far this was gonna go, or if one of us would snap out of it before we got there, but in that moment, I didn’t give a damn. I just wanted more. My fingers were still inside her, moving in and out with this wet, sloppy sound that cut through the quiet of the park. Marit’s breathing was all over the place, hitching every time I hit the right spot, and her hand on my dick was relentless, stroking me with this rough, uneven rhythm that had me clenching my teeth so I wouldn’t lose it too quick. Her jeans were shoved down just past her hips, all bunched up awkwardly with her underwear, some plain cotton thing that was completely soaked now. My own jeans were halfway down my thighs, boxers tangled up in the mess somewhere, and my dick was throbbing in her grip, slick with pre-cum and the sweat from her palm. The cold air was biting at my bare skin, but the heat between us made it easy to ignore.

“Fuck it,” she muttered, her voice low and hoarse, barely louder than a whisper. She let go of me for a second, just long enough to shove her jeans and underwear down further, kicking one leg free with a clumsy little jerk. Her pussy was bare now, pale under the dim streetlight, with a neat trim of blonde hair framing it, glistening wet. I could smell her, sharp and musky, not some fake flowery crap, just real and human. My mouth was damn near watering, but I didn’t even have time to think about going down on her ‘cause she grabbed my hips, pulling me in close, her nails digging into my skin through my shirt. “You sure?” I grunted, even though I was already lining myself up, the head of my dick brushing against her, all hot and slick. I’m not a total asshole, even if every damn part of me was screaming to just go for it. No condom, no nothing, just pure, stupid lust taking over. My brain was barely hanging on, flashing all these warnings about dumbass decisions, but my body? It didn’t give a shit.

“Yeah, just do it,” she snapped, sounding impatient, her legs spreading wider, one still hooked around me, the other braced against the edge of the fountain. Her eyes were hard, locked on mine, no softness there, just raw need. I didn’t ask twice. I pushed in, slow at first, feeling her stretch around me, tight and wet and so damn hot it made my head spin. She hissed, her face scrunching up for a second like it stung, but then she rocked her hips up, taking me deeper, and I couldn’t hold back anymore. I thrust in all the way, hard, bottoming out with a grunt, my balls slapping against her ass. “Shit,” I breathed out, gripping her hips tight enough to probably leave marks, my fingers digging into the soft flesh under her hoodie. She didn’t moan or make some fake porn-star sound, just let out this sharp, shaky breath, her hands clawing at my shoulders.

I pulled out a bit, then slammed back in, setting a rough pace right off the bat ‘cause neither of us had the patience for slow and sweet. The fountain’s concrete scraped against my knuckles where I was bracing myself, and her back must’ve been getting scratched up against it too, but she didn’t say a word about it. Just kept moving with me, meeting every thrust with a roll of her hips, her pussy clenching around me like a damn vice. It was messy as hell. My jeans kept slipping down further, getting in the way, and her hoodie was bunched up to her armpits now, bra shoved up so her small tits bounced with every move. I could see her nipples, hard and kinda pinkish, sticking out in the cold, and I bent down to suck one into my mouth, not gentle at all, just hungry. She gasped, arching into it, her hand grabbing the back of my head, fingers yanking at my hair. My teeth grazed her, probably too hard, but she didn’t push me away, just swore under her breath, a string of Dutch curses I barely caught over the sound of our bodies slapping together.

Sweat was dripping down my back under my jacket, sticking my shirt to my skin, and I could feel hers too, slick under my hands where I held her. My dick was sliding in and out easy now, her wetness coating me, dripping down where we were joined, probably making a damn mess of my jeans. I didn’t care one bit. The smell was heavy, her musk and mine mixing with the damp grass and the faint cigarette smoke still clinging to her clothes. It wasn’t sexy in some Hollywood movie kinda way, just raw, dirty, real. My balls were tight, that pressure building up fast, and I knew I wasn’t gonna last much longer, not with how tight she felt, how hard she was grinding back against me.

Man, I barely got the word out, “Close,” I growled, my voice all scratched up and rough. Didn’t wanna stop, didn’t wanna pull out, but some tiny part of me was still hanging on to sense, just by a thread. She gave a quick nod, out of breath, her face all red, messy blonde hair sticking to her sweaty forehead. Her hand slid down between us, fingers moving fast, desperate, rubbing herself in tight little circles. I could feel her tightening up, her body starting to quiver around me, and damn, it was too much. I let out this deep, ugly groan and pulled out just in time, coming hard, hot streaks hitting her stomach and the edge of her hoodie. My hips kept jerking, my dick twitching in the cold air, and I had to prop myself against that old fountain just to keep from falling over.

She wasn’t far behind me. Her fingers didn’t stop, still going at it, quick and messy, and then she came with this choked little noise, her whole body shaking under me. Nothing for her to clench around now, but I could see the mess we’d made, her thighs all shiny with wetness, my cum smeared across her pale skin. We were both panting like we’d just sprinted a mile, chests heaving, and for a moment, we just stayed like that, half-naked, looking like some messed-up scene against that busted fountain.

I moved first, fumbling to pull up my boxers and jeans with hands that wouldn’t stop shaking. The zipper got stuck for a sec ‘cause I was still half-hard and clumsy as hell. She didn’t budge right away, just sat there on the fountain’s edge, wiping at the mess on her stomach with the bottom of her hoodie like it was nothing. Her jeans were still caught around one ankle, and she didn’t seem in any rush to fix ‘em. I didn’t know what to say, didn’t really feel like saying anything, honestly. It wasn’t weird or awkward, not exactly… just over. Like we’d gotten it out of our systems and that was that.

“Guess that happened,” she said after a bit, her voice flat, no emotion, as she tugged her bra and hoodie back down. She got up, wincing just a little while she yanked her jeans back on, buttoning them with stiff, slow fingers. Her nose ring caught the light as she tilted her head, looking at me with those pale eyes that didn’t give anything away. No smile, no fake crap, just laying it out there. “Yeah,” I mumbled back, shoving my hands into my jacket pockets, feeling the chill now that the heat was gone. My legs were shaky, like jelly, and I could still taste her on my tongue, salty, sharp. I glanced around the park. Still empty. That random smoker from earlier was long gone. Just us, the graffiti-covered benches, and this sad, broken fountain.

“You good?” I asked, not sure why I even bothered. She snorted, kicking at the gravel with her sneaker. “I’m fine. Not my first dumb idea.” She didn’t go into it, didn’t ask if I was okay, just started walking toward the path like she was done here. I watched her for a second, her hoodie all bunched up weird from where she’d wiped herself off, her steps a bit wobbly but steady enough. I didn’t follow right away. Didn’t feel like I needed to.

Instead, I leaned back against the fountain, digging a crumpled pack of cigarettes out of my pocket. Lit one up, watched the smoke curl into the dark, and took a long drag, feeling that familiar burn in my lungs. My phone buzzed once in my pocket, probably some stupid notification, but I didn’t bother checking. Marit was already halfway down the path, not looking back, just heading toward the Volkspark exit by the Lidl. Figured that was it. No big goodbye, no “let’s text later” or any of that crap. Didn’t need to be. I flicked the ash off my cig, watching it scatter on the cracked concrete, and muttered under my breath, “Well, fuck, guess I’m walking home past that damn kebab place again.”