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 lousy kebab at some dingy little spot on Prinsens Gate in Trondheim when I first saw her. Man, it was a freezing November night, the kind where the wind just slices through you, no matter how many layers you pile on. I was parked at one of those grimy tables by the window, grease dripping all over the paper wrapper in my hands, just killing time before the last bus to Heimdal. The place reeked of burnt meat and stale fryer oil, and those harsh fluorescent lights made everybody look like zombies. Then she walked in, and I don’t know, something about her just grabbed my attention. Found out later her name’s Ingrid. She looked to be in her late thirties, kinda worn out, wearing this beat-up green puffy coat and a knit hat yanked down over messy blonde hair. She wasn’t stunning or anything, just… regular. Tired, like she’d been on her feet forever. She ordered something quietly, barely looking at the guy at the counter, then dropped into a chair a couple tables away from me. I kept stealing glances while I chewed on whatever overcooked meat this was supposed to be. She had these sharp cheekbones and this sorta annoyed look, like the world had done her wrong. No clue why I couldn’t stop looking. Maybe I was just bored out of my mind. I’m not a weirdo, alright? I swear.

Oh, I’m Erik, by the way. Twenty-nine, working at the Coop Extra down on Solsiden, stocking shelves and dealing with grumpy old ladies who can’t find their stupid oatmeal. Not exactly living the high life, but I manage. Got a tiny flat in Heimdal, an old Volvo that barely starts when it’s cold, and a bad habit of drinking too much beer on weekends at Stammen, that sketchy bar by the train station. I’m not bad-looking or anything, but I’m no model either, average height, a bit doughy from too many late-night pizzas, and a beard I keep forgetting to deal with. Anyway, I’m just a normal dude, and I wasn’t planning to hit on anybody that night. I was just… looking, I guess.

So, after a few minutes, Ingrid caught me staring. I figured she’d glare at me or something, but nah, she just raised an eyebrow, like she was challenging me to open my mouth. I didn’t, obviously. I’m not that slick. Just looked down at my sad kebab and acted real fascinated by the last bits of wilted lettuce. Then, out of nowhere, she pipes up. “You got a problem, or what?” Her voice was flat, a little raspy, like she’d smoked one too many. Had this thick Trøndersk accent, too, rolling her R’s in that way that makes everything sound kinda pissed off, you know, the way people talk around here. I looked up, totally thrown off. “Nah, sorry. Just zoning out. Long day.” She snorted, like she wasn’t buying it, but didn’t push. She unwrapped her food, think it was a falafel wrap or something, and took a bite, still eyeballing me from the corner of her eye. It was odd, like we were both checking each other out, but not in a flirty way. More like two stray dogs sniffing around, wondering if the other’s gonna snap.

I don’t know why, but I felt this dumb need to say something. “You from around here?” I asked, wiping my hands on a napkin that was already shredding. “Yeah. Lade,” she said, naming a neighborhood not too far off. “You?” “Heimdal. Just waiting on the bus. Probably missed the last one, so I’m stuck here for a bit.” She nodded, like she didn’t really give a crap but was being polite enough. “Buses suck this time of year. Always late when it’s this damn cold.” We didn’t talk much after that for a while, just ate in this weird, awkward quiet while the guy at the counter blasted some random Turkish pop through a crappy little speaker. Outside, through the foggy window, I could see the lights of Nidelva River bouncing off the water, all blurry. Prinsens Gate was pretty empty for a Friday night, just a few drunk kids stumbling by, probably heading to some bar near Torvet. I kept thinking I should just finish up and bounce, but something had me stuck to that stupid chair. Maybe it was how Ingrid kept glancing over, like she was waiting for me to do something dumb. Or maybe I just didn’t wanna stand out in the cold at the bus stop yet.

Eventually, she finished her wrap, crumpled the wrapper, and tossed it on the table. Then she leaned back, arms crossed, and looked right at me. “So, what’s your deal? You just sit around staring at folks in kebab joints all night?” I laughed, even though it wasn’t really funny. “Nah, I’m just… I don’t know. Nothing better to do. Work’s crap, home’s crap. This is as good as it gets.” She smirked, just a quick little flash of teeth. “Pathetic.” “Yeah, probably,” I fired back, not even annoyed. “What about you? Why’re you out here eating alone on a Friday?” That smirk dropped, and for a second I thought I’d ticked her off. But then she just shrugged. “Got off a double shift at St. Olavs. Don’t feel like going home yet. My flatmate’s got her boyfriend over, and I don’t wanna hear that nonsense through the walls.” I nodded, like I got it. St. Olavs is that big hospital up on Øya, so I figured she’s probably a nurse or something, pulling crazy hours. Made sense why she looked so beat. “Yeah, that sounds rough. Better to eat greasy junk with weirdos like me, right?” She didn’t laugh, but her eyes kinda crinkled, like she almost did.

“Eh, maybe. You’re not the worst person I’ve hung out with tonight.” I didn’t really know how to respond to that, so I just grabbed my soda and took a sip. It was flat as hell by now, no fizz left. There was this weird vibe between us, I guess. Not like lovey-dovey nonsense or anything, just… I dunno, different. Like we were both saying stuff a little too real, and neither of us had a clue where this was headed. I kept wondering what was going through her head. Was she just passing time like I was, or was she after something more? Not that I had the guts to straight-up ask her.

Then she got up, brushing some crumbs off her coat. “I’m stepping out for a smoke. You coming, or are you just gonna sit there looking all lost and pathetic?” I blinked, totally thrown off again. I don’t even smoke, not really, but no way was I gonna say no. “Yeah, alright. Hold on a sec.” I snagged my jacket, some cheap H&M thing that’s basically falling apart, and followed her out. The cold slammed into me like a punch, the wind tearing down Prinsens Gate and stinging my face. Ingrid didn’t seem to give a crap. She just leaned against the wall outside the kebab shop, right under this flickering neon sign, and pulled a pack of cigarettes from her pocket. She lit one up, the orange glow flashing across her face for a moment, then held the pack out to me without a word. “Nah, I’m good,” I muttered, stuffing my hands in my pockets to keep from freezing. “Just hanging out with you.” She shrugged, took a long drag, and the smoke curled up into the dark, blending with the fog rolling off the river.

We stood there for a bit, not saying much, just watching the odd car cruise by. I could smell the sharp, bitter tobacco in the air, and I kept sneaking looks at her. Up close, I noticed the faint lines around her eyes, the way her lips pressed tight around the cigarette. She wasn’t pretty like some magazine cover, but something about her just… stuck with me. I couldn’t pin it down. “So,” she said after a while, flicking ash onto the pavement. “Got any plans for the rest of the night, or are you just gonna stand here freezing your ass off?” I opened my mouth, but I didn’t have a real answer. My bus wasn’t for another half hour, and I wasn’t exactly dying to get back to my empty flat. I looked at her, trying to figure out what she was thinking, but her face gave nothing away. There was something in her voice, though, something that made my stomach do a little flip. Like she was throwing out a test, and I wasn’t sure if I’d pass or flop.

I shrugged, trying to act all casual even though my hands were basically numb in my pockets. “Dunno. Bus isn’t for a while. Nowhere I gotta be, really. What about you?” Ingrid took another drag, the cigarette tip glowing bright for a second before she blew out a cloud of smoke that the wind snatched away. “Same. Not feeling like heading back to Lade yet. Flatmate’s probably still going at it, if you know what I mean.” She said it so straight, no shame or anything, just laying it out there. It caught me off guard, and I let out a little chuckle. “Yeah, that’d kill the vibe,” I said, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. The cold was creeping through my boots now, my toes starting to ache. Prinsens Gate was pretty dead, just the faint hum of a tram somewhere and the occasional yell from some drunk down by Torvet. The neon sign above us buzzed, flickering like it was on its last legs.

I kept glancing at her, noticing how her lips curled just a tiny bit when she wasn’t talking, like she was always half-laughing at something. I had no idea what I was doing out here, standing in the freezing cold with some stranger, but I didn’t wanna bounce either. She finished her smoke, dropped the butt, and ground it under her heel. Then she looked right at me, eyes narrowed like she was sizing me up. “You’re kinda weird, you know? Not in a bad way, just… weird.” I snorted. “Thanks, I think. You’re not exactly average yourself.” She smirked, just a quick flash of teeth, and for a second I thought she might just walk off and leave me standing there like a total idiot. But instead, she nodded her head toward the alley next to the kebab shop, this narrow little gap between buildings that led down toward the Nidelva. “Come on. I’m not standing out here freezing my tits off all night. Let’s walk.”

I hesitated for like half a second, then went after her. The alley was dark as hell, just a weak glow from the streetlights leaking in at the edges. It reeked of damp brick and old garbage, with a whiff of river water mixed in. Our footsteps echoed a bit, mine sounding heavier than hers, and I stayed a couple steps back, not sure what this was even turning into. She didn’t say a word for a while, just kept walking until the alley opened up a little, some small overhang by the back of what might’ve been that old secondhand shop on Kjøpmannsgata. There was a rusty bench there, covered in graffiti, and she dropped onto it like she owned the damn thing. I sat down next to her, the metal freezing through my jeans. My breath came out in little puffs, and I could see hers too, mixing in the air between us. It was quieter back here, the city noise all muffled, just the faint sound of the river lapping a block away.

I didn’t know what to say, so I kept my mouth shut, just sitting there feeling like a complete dumbass. Then she turned to me, her knee brushing against mine, and I felt this weird jolt, kinda like static or something, even through all the layers of clothes.

“You’re not gonna do anything about this, huh?” she muttered, her voice kinda low, like she was daring me. She was close, way closer than I’d noticed at first, and I could smell the faint whiff of tobacco on her breath, mixed with something else, maybe that crappy coffee she drank earlier. I swallowed hard, my throat feeling like sandpaper. “Didn’t think you wanted me to,” I mumbled back. She rolled her eyes, but there was this look in them, sharp, almost hungry. “God, you’re clueless,” she snapped. And before I could even wrap my head around it, she leaned in, her lips slamming into mine, rough and messy. This wasn’t some cute, romantic crap, it was raw, desperate, her teeth grazing my bottom lip as she yanked at my jacket collar to pull me in tighter.

I froze for half a second, my brain lagging behind, then I kissed her back, my hands fumbling down to her waist, feeling the bulk of her puffy coat under my fingers. Her mouth was warm, a total contrast to the chilly air around us, and she tasted like smoke and salt. My beard scratched against her chin, and I heard this little sound from her, not some dramatic moan, just a quick huff through her nose, like she was annoyed but still into it. My heart was hammering now, blood pounding in my ears, and I didn’t think, just went with it. I slid a hand up under her coat, finding the edge of her sweater, then the skin of her lower back, cold and kinda damp from the night air. She didn’t pull away, just pressed harder against me, her tongue pushing into my mouth, sloppy and not giving a damn.

We were awkward as hell, the bench creaking under us, my knee knocking into hers as I tried to scoot closer. Her hat got half knocked off, and I could feel strands of her messy hair sticking to my face. Didn’t care. My other hand went to her thigh, gripping through her jeans, and she shifted, swinging a leg over mine so she was half-straddling me, her weight heavy, real. The position sucked, my back twisted against the bench armrest, but the heat of her pressed against me was making my head spin, my dick already half-hard in my jeans, pushing against the zipper. “Fuck,” I muttered into her mouth, barely pulling back enough to get the word out. She didn’t say a thing, just grabbed my hand from her thigh and shoved it higher, up under her coat and sweater, guiding me to her chest. No bra, I realized, my fingers brushing over the soft weight of her breast, the nipple hard against my palm, maybe from the cold, maybe something else. I squeezed, probably too hard, and she hissed, but didn’t stop me, just rocked her hips a bit against my leg, the friction hitting me right in the groin.

I was fumbling now, trying to get a better angle, my other hand sliding down to her ass, pulling her tighter against me. Her jeans felt rough against my palm, but I could still feel the heat of her through the fabric, even in this freezing-ass alley. She broke the kiss, breathing heavy, her face all flushed, eyes glassy, and for a second I thought she might tell me to screw off. But nah, instead she reached down between us, her hand brushing over the bulge in my jeans, not gentle at all, just a quick, firm grip that made me grunt. “You got anything on you?” she asked, her voice rough, and I knew she meant a condom. I shook my head, feeling like a total idiot, my brain too scrambled to even make up a lie. “Fuck it,” she muttered, and started undoing my belt anyway, the metal clinking loud in the quiet alley.

My hands were shaking a bit as I helped her, shoving my jeans and boxers down just enough, the cold air hitting my skin like a slap. My dick sprang free, fully hard now, the tip already wet and sticky, and I felt this weird mix of embarrassment and straight-up need as she looked down at it, no judgment, just focus. She shifted again, still half on my lap, and started messing with her own jeans, unzipping them with quick, jerky tugs. I caught a glimpse of plain gray underwear, kinda worn at the edges, before she shoved them down with her pants, just enough to bare herself. I could see the dark blonde hair between her legs, her skin pale and goosebumped from the cold, and the faint, musky scent of her hit me, real and raw, mixing with the damp alley smell. My mouth went dry again, and I didn’t know where to look or what the hell to do with my hands, just sat there like a dumbass as she positioned herself over me, one knee on the bench, the other foot braced on the ground.

It was clumsy as shit, her trying to lower herself while I tried to guide myself in, missing at first, the head of my dick sliding against her inner thigh, slick and frustrating. Then I felt it, the heat of her, the wet warmth as I finally lined up, and she sank down just a little, just the tip pushing inside. She grimaced, not in some sexy way, just adjusting, and I groaned, the tightness already too much, my hands gripping her hips through her coat. We weren’t even fully going at it yet, barely started, and I could feel every tiny shift, every bit of her weight, the cold metal of the bench digging into my ass as I tried to hold still, not wanting to mess this up. I held my breath for a second, my fingers digging into the thick fabric of her coat as she moved over me. The cold was biting at my bare skin, my jeans and boxers bunched awkwardly around my thighs, but the heat of her, even just that tiny bit of her around the tip, was enough to make me forget the damn November chill for a moment.

Ingrid mumbled something I couldn’t quite make out, probably swearing under her breath in that heavy Trøndersk accent of hers. Then she pressed down harder, taking me in deeper. It wasn’t smooth or anything, not like some polished porn scene or whatever. It felt tight, a bit dry at first, and I could tell she was tense, her thighs were shaking against mine as she tried to loosen up. “Fuck, wait a sec,” I muttered, my voice coming out rougher than I expected. Yeah, it’s gross, but I wasn’t thinking straight, I spat into my hand and reached down between us, rubbing it on myself to make things easier. She didn’t say a word, just gave a quick nod, her face all scrunched up like she was focusing hard. She lifted herself a little, then sank back down. This time, it was smoother, wetter, and I could feel her gripping me, hot and tight, sending a sharp jolt right up my spine. I let out a low groan, my head falling back against the rusty bench, the graffiti tags behind me scratching at my neck through my jacket.

She started moving after that, not in some perfect rhythm or anything like that, just these jerky, uneven thrusts. Her knee kept slipping on the bench as she tried to figure out a pace. Her coat was still on, bunched up around her waist, and her jeans were only halfway down her thighs, making it hard for her to move. The whole thing felt messy, desperate even. Every time she came down, I could feel the rough scratch of her pubic hair against me, the damp heat of her wrapping around me. The faint smell of her sweat and arousal hit me hard, raw and real, mixing with the stale alley stench of trash and wet river air. My hands slipped under her coat again, grabbing her bare hips now, feeling her cold skin warm up under my touch as I tried to guide her, pulling her down harder. “Harder,” she muttered, her voice short and sharp, not even looking at me, just staring off over my shoulder like her mind was somewhere else. Her breath came out in quick, sharp puffs, little clouds in the freezing air.

I didn’t argue. I thrust up to meet her, my ass lifting off the bench, the cold metal digging into me every time I dropped back down. Was it comfortable? Hell no. My back was twisted, one leg half-numb from the weird angle, but I didn’t give a shit. All I could focus on was the wet slap of our skin, the tight heat of her squeezing around me. I could feel the precum leaking out, making things messier, and her own wetness was starting to coat me, dripping a bit, sticking to my pubes. I moved one hand off her hip, fumbling under her sweater again to grab her tit, squeezing it rough, my thumb brushing over the hard nipple. She hissed, her hips jerking unevenly, and I felt her clench around me, this quick, involuntary spasm that made me groan way louder than I meant to. “Shit, you’re tight,” I mumbled, not even sure if she heard me, my brain was half-gone at that point.

She didn’t say anything back, just kept moving, picking up speed now. Her knee slipped on the bench again, nearly losing her balance. I gripped her tighter, one arm wrapping around her lower back to keep us steady as I thrust up harder. I could feel the pressure building in my balls, that familiar ache letting me know I wasn’t gonna hold out much longer. “You close?” she rasped, finally looking at me, her eyes all glassy and half-lidded, cheeks red from the cold or the effort, or maybe both. Her hair was a total mess, hat long gone, strands sticking to her sweaty forehead. I just nodded, teeth gritted, trying to hold off, but it was pointless. The way she was grinding down, the raw friction of her sliding over me, those little grunts she made every time I hit deep, it was too much. My dick twitched inside her, heat coiling tight in my gut, and I barely got out a “Fuck, I’m gonna, ” before I lost it, coming hard, spilling inside her with this low, guttural sound I couldn’t hold in. My hips jerked up a few times, all uneven, as I emptied myself, the hot rush of it filling her, some leaking out around the base, sticky and warm against my skin.

She didn’t stop, just kept riding me through it, chasing her own release. Her movements got sharper, more desperate. I was oversensitive now, wincing with every thrust, but I didn’t push her off, just held on, hands gripping her ass, feeling the muscle flex under my fingers. I could tell she was close; her breathing was all ragged, her face screwed up tight. Then she let out this short, sharp gasp, her whole body going stiff for a second before she shuddered, clenching hard around me, milking the last of what I had. She didn’t scream or moan or pull any of that fake stuff, just breathed heavy, slumping forward a bit, her forehead almost hitting my shoulder before she caught herself.

We stayed like that for maybe ten seconds, both of us panting, the cold air stinging my lungs now that the heat of it all was fading. I was still inside her, softening, and I could feel the mess between us, my cum and her wetness mixing, dripping down, soaking into my boxers and probably her underwear too. It was gross, sticky as hell, and I could smell it now, that sharp, musky tang of sex cutting through the damp alley air. She shifted, pulling off me with this wet sound, a little grimace on her face as she yanked her jeans back up, not looking at me. I did the same, wincing as I tucked myself into my boxers, the fabric cold and damp against my skin, my belt clinking as I fumbled to fasten it. She got up first, brushing her hands on her coat like she was wiping off dirt or something, not saying a damn thing.

I just sat there for a moment, legs all wobbly, the bench still creaking under my weight. My back was killing me from sitting at that weird angle, and I could feel a cramp sneaking up in my calf. I didn’t even know what to say, and honestly, I didn’t feel like saying much of anything. It’s not like we had some big, meaningful moment or whatever. It was just… something that happened. Quick, messy, done. I glanced over at her, only catching the side of her face as she tugged her hat back on. Her expression was blank, maybe a little annoyed, like her mind was already somewhere else. “Guess I’ll head out,” she said after a bit, her voice flat as hell, no warmth, no weirdness, just laying it out there. She didn’t even look at me, just started walking back toward the alley entrance, her boots scraping against the bumpy pavement. I nodded, even though she couldn’t see it, and mumbled a quiet, “Yeah, okay,” under my breath.

I didn’t get up right away. Just sat there, watching her disappear around the corner, her green coat fading into the shadows under the dim streetlights of Prinsens Gate. I stayed put for another minute or two, the cold creeping back into my bones now that the rush was gone. My hands were numb, and I could still feel the sticky mess in my boxers, uncomfortable as hell, if I’m being real. I probably should’ve felt something, right? Like guilt or satisfaction or… I dunno, something. But nah, I just felt kinda hollow, like I’d burned off some steam and now I was right back where I started. I pulled out my phone, the cracked screen lighting up to show I’d missed my bus by a solid twenty minutes. Of course. Next one wasn’t for another half hour, so I’d be stuck freezing my ass off at the stop near Torvet.

Finally, I dragged myself up, the bench groaning like it was relieved to be rid of me. I started walking back toward the main street. The alley smelled like river water and old trash again, no sign of what just went down, just this faint ache in my groin and the damp spot in my jeans to remind me. Passing the kebab shop, I saw the guy behind the counter wiping down the sticky tables, not even glancing up as I shuffled by. Outside, the wind came ripping down Prinsens Gate, slicing right through my cheap-ass H&M jacket. I shoved my hands deep in my pockets and kept heading for the bus stop.

Halfway there, I noticed a crumpled receipt on the ground, probably some tourist’s overpriced coffee from Kjøpmannsgata or something. For no damn reason, I kicked it into the gutter, watching it flutter off into the dark like some sad little bird.