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 microwaved burrito at the Esso gas station on Håkon Magnussons gate in Tromsø, Norway, when I first caught sight of her. It was, like, 11 at night, pitch black outside with that never-ending winter darkness crap, and I was just trying to force down some food after a brutal shift at the fish processing plant by the harbor. That burrito? Tasted like cardboard and bad life choices, but I was too wiped out to give a damn. The gas station was dead, just the hum of the fridges and the cashier messing around on his phone behind the counter. Then she walked in, all wrapped up in a puffy jacket and a scarf tied tight, stomping snow off her boots like she ran the joint. Found out later her name’s Ingrid. Not that I cared about names right then. She was tall, kinda gangly, with a sharp nose and pale skin, like she hadn’t seen the sun in forever, which, fair, it’s the Arctic Circle. Her hair was this messy blonde, stuffed under a knit hat, and her tired eyes glanced at me for half a second before darting away. I don’t know why, but I couldn’t stop looking. Maybe it was how she moved, all fast and twitchy, like she was mad at everything. Or maybe I was just bored out of my freaking mind. Look, I’m not a weirdo or anything, but I’ve got eyes, y’know?

I’m Jens, by the way. Thirty-two, divorced, stuck in this frozen dump of a town ‘cause the pay at the plant isn’t terrible, even if the stink of fish guts sticks to me every damn night. I’m not exactly a prize, got a beer gut from too many cheap pints at Arctic Pub on Storgata, and my beard’s more scruffy than tough. But I get by, y’know? Not out here looking for romance or any of that crap. Just trying to survive the week without losing it. Anyway, Ingrid snagged a pack of smokes off the shelf and tossed some coins on the counter. I was still gnawing on that awful burrito, trying not to make it obvious I was watching her. She grumbled something to the cashier, probably about the weather, ‘cause what else do you talk about when it’s minus ten out?, and then turned to head out. But then she stopped, right at the door, and looked back at me. Not in a cute way or nothing, more like she was figuring me out, like I was some puzzle she didn’t get yet.

“You got a light?” she asked, her voice all rough, like she smoked too much or hadn’t slept in days. Her Norwegian had that Tromsø edge, sharp and quick. Thing is, I didn’t have one, quit that junk a year ago, but I wasn’t about to look like an idiot and say no. “Uh, yeah, gimme a sec,” I muttered, patting my jacket pockets like I was actually looking for something. I stood up, burrito crumbs falling all over the floor, and shuffled over to her. Up close, she smelled like wet wool and something kinda sweet, gum, maybe? I don’t even know why I noticed that. “Think I left it in the truck. Wanna come with?” She raised an eyebrow, like she knew I was full of it, but she just shrugged and pushed the door open. The cold slammed into me like a punch, the wind cutting straight through my cheap-ass coat as we crunched through the snow to my beat-up Volvo by the pumps. Tromsø’s streets were empty this late, just the streetlights glowing on Håkon Magnussons gate and the faint rumble of a snowplow off somewhere.

My truck’s a disaster, empty coffee cups and old receipts all over the dash, but I popped the glove compartment open and faked looking around. “Damn, guess I don’t got one after all,” I said, scratching the back of my neck, feeling like a moron. I thought she’d just roll her eyes and bail, but nope. She leaned against the truck, arms crossed, giving me this look I couldn’t figure out. “You always this useless?” she said, but there was a tiny smirk, like she was messing with me or something. “Pretty much,” I fired back without thinking. “You always this pushy?” She let out a quick snort, her breath fogging up in the cold. “Only when I’m freezing my ass off waiting for some dude to waste my time.” I didn’t know what to say to that, so I just stood there, hands in my pockets, feeling like a total dumbass. The gas station lights flickered behind her, and I could see the outline of the Tromsøbrua bridge in the distance, all lit up over the dark water. I should’ve just let her go, minded my own damn business, but something about her, those sharp edges, that no-nonsense vibe, kept me from walking away.

“Look, I ain’t got a lighter, but I’ve got a half-empty pack of smokes in the truck if you’re desperate,” I said, mostly to kill the awkward silence. “Or we could hit up Arctic Pub. They’ve got matches, and I could really use a drink after the day I’ve had.” She tilted her head, like she was thinking it over. I figured she’d tell me to get lost, most folks do, but then she nodded, real slow. “Alright. But you’re buying the first round. I ain’t rolling in cash.” I couldn’t help but grin. “Deal. Let’s get outta this damn cold.”

We didn’t say much on the short drive down Storgata to the pub. My truck’s heater is basically useless, so we just sat there shivering, the radio crackling with static and some old Norwegian pop tune I didn’t know. Arctic Pub ain’t anything to write home about, just a dive bar with sticky floors and a jukebox that’s been busted since last summer. It’s right across from the old Domkirke church, which always feels kinda weird, like you’re doing something wrong just by stepping inside.

Man, this place is dirt cheap, and the locals couldn’t care less who you are as long as you don’t start any crap. Walking in, it hit me right away, the smell of old beer and burnt pizza wafting from that tiny kitchen in the back. A couple of old dudes were hunched over the bar, sipping their pints like they’ve been there forever, while some younger folks were cracking up way too loud over by the dartboard. I recognized a few faces, mostly guys from the plant, but I didn’t feel like saying hey or anything. Ingrid just shrugged off her jacket, showing off a plain black sweater and some worn-out jeans that’d definitely seen better days. She wasn’t here to impress anybody, that was obvious. And hell, neither was I, rocking my beat-up Carhartt jacket and boots still caked with snow.

I went up and grabbed us a couple of Mack beers from the bartender, this guy Tore who always looks like he’s half-asleep behind the counter. Ingrid took hers without even a nod, just downed a big gulp and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand like it was nothing. We plopped down at this wobbly little table by the window, staring out at the empty street. I didn’t have a clue what to say, so I just sipped my beer and watched her light up a smoke with a match she’d swiped from the bar. Out of nowhere, she goes, “So, what’s your deal?” while blowing smoke up toward the ceiling. Her eyes were locked on me, kinda sharp, like she was sizing me up, figuring out if I was worth her time or not. I laughed, though it came out all weird and awkward. “What, like my whole life story or something? Not much to tell, really. Work at the plant, crash, drink. Same old, same old. What about you?” She just shrugged, flicking ash into this chipped-up ashtray. “Same crap, different day. I pull shifts at the Polar Hotel down by the docks. Mostly cleaning rooms. Keeps the bills paid, but it’s boring as hell.”

After that, we didn’t talk much. Just sat there drinking in this odd, heavy kinda silence. I kept catching myself noticing dumb little things about her, how her fingers messed with the beer label, this tiny scar on her knuckle, the way her mouth twitched a bit when she was thinking. No idea why I even noticed. I wasn’t trying to hit on her or anything, at least I don’t think I was. But there was… something about her, you know? Something I couldn’t quite pin down. Like she was challenging me to say something, do something, without ever actually saying it.

The pub started getting busier, the noise ramping up as more folks stumbled in from the cold. I was on my second beer, starting to feel that little buzz sneak in, when she leaned forward, elbows on the table, and looked right at me. “You’re not as boring as I thought,” she said, her voice low, almost like she didn’t mean for it to slip out. I didn’t know what to make of that. My stomach did this weird flip, not ‘cause I was flattered or whatever, but ‘cause it felt like something was shifting, like the air got heavier or something. I opened my mouth to probably say something stupid, but then she just stood up, grabbed her jacket, and jerked her head toward the door. “Come on,” she said. “I ain’t done with you yet.” I didn’t ask where we were going. Just followed her like a total idiot, the cold smacking me in the face again as we stepped back out into the Tromsø night.

We slogged through the slush on Storgata, the wind howling off the fjord like it had a personal grudge against us. Ingrid didn’t say a word, just kept walking with her hands jammed deep in her jacket pockets, her boots kicking up little sprays of dirty snow. I had no clue where we were headed, but I wasn’t about to ask and look like I couldn’t keep up. The buzz from those Mack beers was still humming in my head, dulling the cold a bit, but my heart was pounding harder than it should’ve been. Not from walking, though. Nah, it was something else.

She stopped in front of this run-down apartment building just off Grønnegata, near the old Polaria aquarium. The place looked like it hadn’t been touched since the 80s, peeling paint on the door, a busted buzzer with half the names scratched out. Ingrid dug a key out of her pocket and shoved it into the lock, grunting when it got stuck for a sec before the door finally creaked open. The hallway reeked of damp carpet and burnt toast, and the fluorescent light was flickering like it was about to give up. “Up here,” she muttered, not even glancing back as she started up the narrow stairs. I followed, my boots thumping loud on the steps, feeling like I was barging in but too damn curious to turn around.

Her place was on the third floor, this tiny one-room setup with a mattress on the floor, a shaky table stacked with empty coffee mugs, and a single window looking out over the dark harbor. Clothes were everywhere, jeans, hoodies, even a bra just hanging off a chair like she didn’t care who saw it. It wasn’t cozy or anything, just… real. Lived-in. Like she didn’t bother hiding who she was. She kicked off her boots by the door and shrugged out of her jacket, tossing it on the floor. I just stood there like a moron, not sure if I should take mine off or what. “You gonna stand there all night?” she said, glancing over her shoulder as she yanked off her scarf. Her voice wasn’t warm or welcoming, just straight-up blunt, like she was calling me out. I mumbled something dumb and dropped my coat on the chair, my hands feeling all clumsy and weird.

She didn’t offer me a drink or nothing, just sat on the edge of the mattress, legs crossed, and stared at me with those tired, sharp eyes. “So,” she dragged the word out real slow, “what now?” I didn’t have an answer for that. My mouth felt dry as hell, and there was this weird heat creeping up my neck. I just stood there, feeling like an idiot, not knowing what to say or do next.

I’ve never been smooth, not even close, and I sure as hell wasn’t gonna start acting like I was now. “Fuck if I know,” I mumbled, scratching at my scruffy beard, trying to seem chill even though I felt like a complete idiot. “You’re the one who dragged my ass here.” She gave a tiny smirk, leaning back on her hands, casual as anything. Her sweater slid up just a bit, showing this little strip of pale skin above her jeans. I tried not to gawk, but yeah, I totally did. “Guess I did,” she said, her voice dropping low, like she was mulling over each word. “You got an issue with that?” “Nah,” I shot back way too fast, my heart picking up speed. I stepped closer without really thinking, just moving ‘cause standing there like a moron felt worse than doing something. She didn’t even blink, just eyed me up and down, like she was sizing me up or deciding something. Suddenly, the room felt tighter, smaller somehow, the radiator humming in the background and that faint smell of her, sweat mixed with this sweet thing I’d noticed before, hitting me harder than it should’ve.

I plopped down next to her, the mattress dipping under me. It was awkward as hell, our knees almost brushing, and I could feel the warmth coming off her even through that sweater. She didn’t scoot away, though. Just kept staring at me, her breathing a little off now, uneven. I don’t know who made the first move, me, her, doesn’t matter, but next thing I knew, my hand was on her thigh, rough and kinda unsure, like I was waiting for her to push me away. She didn’t. Her jeans felt worn under my fingers, and I could feel the muscle there, tight for a split second before it eased up. “Alright, then,” she muttered, almost like she was talking to herself, and then she was on me. Not soft or sweet or any of that crap, just hungry, her hands yanking at my shirt as her mouth slammed into mine. Her lips were chapped, rough from the cold outside, and she tasted like beer and tobacco, bitter and sharp. I kissed her back, hard, my hand sliding from her thigh up to her hip, gripping tighter than I planned to. She let out this low noise in her throat, not some fake moan or whatever, just a grunt, like she was caught off guard but didn’t mind it.

We fumbled around like a couple of dumbasses, hands all over the place, tugging at clothes without much thought. I pulled her sweater up, my knuckles brushing against her skin, cold at first, then warm underneath. She didn’t have much on under it, just this plain gray bra that looked like it’d been through the wash a million times. Her chest wasn’t anything crazy, not big or perfect or any of that nonsense, just… real, soft under the fabric as I slid my hand up to cup one. She hissed a bit, her nails digging into my shoulder through my shirt, not enough to hurt, but enough to make me notice. “Fuck, take this off,” she snapped, pulling at my shirt like it personally offended her. I yanked it over my head, clumsy as hell, my gut sticking out more than I’d like. I’m not exactly in shape, you know, and I half-expected some smartass comment, but she didn’t say a word. Just looked at me, her eyes darker now, and pushed me back so I was half-lying on the mattress. Then she climbed on top, straddling my hips, her jeans rubbing against mine as she leaned down and bit my neck. Not a little nibble, a real bite, sharp enough to sting. I groaned, couldn’t help it, my hands grabbing at her ass, pulling her closer even with all that denim in the way. Her hair was all in my face, messy, smelling like cheap shampoo, while she ground down against me.

I was already hard, had been for a bit, and I knew damn well she could feel it through my jeans. She didn’t say anything about it, just kept moving, her breath hot against my ear. My hands fumbled with her jeans, trying to get the stupid button undone, but my fingers were all shaky and I kept screwing it up. “Fucking hell,” I grumbled, annoyed with myself, and she let out this short, rough laugh before swatting my hands away and doing it herself. She wiggled out of them, kicking them off with her socks still on, leaving her in just that bra and some mismatched underwear, dark blue with a tiny hole near the waistband. I didn’t give a shit. I was too busy staring at her, the way her hips curved, the faint stretch marks on her thighs. She wasn’t shaved or anything, just a dark patch showing through the thin fabric, and somehow that made it hotter, more… real, I guess. I reached for her, pulling her back down, my hands slipping under the waistband to grab her bare ass, warm and a little sweaty now. I flipped us over, clumsy as all get-out, so I was on top, my weight pressing her into the mattress. She didn’t complain, just hooked a leg around my hip, pulling me closer.

My jeans were still on, and the friction was driving me up the damn wall, my dick straining against the zipper like it was gonna break through. “Hang on,” I grunted, sitting up to mess with my belt. My hands were still shaky, and the buckle got stuck for a second, making me curse under my breath. She watched me, propped up on her elbows, chest heaving a little, lips parted like she was curious what I’d do next. I finally got the damn thing off, shoving my jeans and boxers down just enough to get free. I’m not huge or anything, just average, but I was so hard it almost hurt, the tip already slick with precum. I didn’t have a condom, didn’t even think to grab one, and part of me figured I should probably ask, but she didn’t bring it up, just reached down between us, her fingers brushing against me. I twitched at the touch, sucking in a sharp breath, and she smirked again, guiding me closer as she spread her legs wider.

I didn’t even bother taking her underwear off, just shoved it to the side and slid a finger against her. Man, she was wet, way wetter than I expected, and so damn warm. She let out this sharp little sound, her hips twitching a bit as I rubbed at her clit, honestly just guessing at what I was doing but giving it a shot anyway. “Just fuckin’ do it already,” she grumbled, sounding annoyed as hell, and grabbed my wrist to stop me. I didn’t argue or anything. I got myself in position, the tip of me pressing against her, feeling that heat even through the damp fabric I hadn’t fully moved out of the way. My hands gripped her hips to keep her steady, and I pushed in slow at first, not wanting to mess this up. She felt tight, tighter than I thought she’d be, and I noticed her tense up for a second before she let out this shaky breath, her nails digging into my arms. I stopped halfway, glancing at her face to check if she was okay. Her eyes were half-shut, mouth open, and she gave this tiny nod, barely there. So I started moving, just shallow thrusts at first, feeling every bit of her gripping me tight. The mattress creaked under us, stupid loud in the quiet room, and I could hear the wet, messy sounds of us together, raw as hell. Her breathing hitched every time I went deeper, and I couldn’t tell if that was a good thing or not, but she wasn’t telling me to stop, so I didn’t.

My hands slid under her bra, pushing it up so I could feel her bare skin, thumbs brushing over her nipples, small and hard against my rough fingers. She arched into me a little, pressing closer, and I sped up, that heat building fast in my gut already. We weren’t smooth or in sync or any of that, just kinda fumbling through it, my rhythm all off as I tried to figure out what she wanted. Her leg stayed hooked around me, pulling me in harder, and I could feel the sweat starting to make everything slick between us, my chest sticking to hers. I buried my face in her neck, breathing in the sharp smell of her skin, and just kept going, not thinking about anything except how damn good it felt, how I didn’t wanna stop for anything. Her breath was all ragged now, hot against my ear, and I could feel her starting to tense under me, her hips jerking in a way that wasn’t just matching mine. I didn’t know if she was close or just uncomfortable or what, but I kept at it, my own need pushing me, making my movements rougher, less careful. My hands gripped her hips tight, probably hard enough to leave marks, but she didn’t say a word, just let out these short, sharp gasps that hit me right in the chest.

That damn mattress wouldn’t stop creaking, the cheap frame banging against the wall every few thrusts, and honestly, I couldn’t care less if her neighbors heard us. I pulled back a little, just enough to look at her, sweat sticking her messy hair to her forehead, eyes half-lidded and dark. Her bra was still shoved up around her chest, her tits bouncing a bit with each push, her pale skin flushed red where I’d been grabbing at her. I slid a hand down between us, clumsy as hell, trying to rub at her clit again through the damp fabric of her underwear that was still kinda in the way. My thumb pressed against her, circling rough and sloppy, and she hissed, her nails raking down my back hard enough to sting. “Fuck, yeah, right there,” she muttered, her voice all hoarse, and I kept at it, feeling her get even wetter, the mess of it coating my fingers. Her legs tightened around me, heels digging into my ass, pulling me deeper, and I could feel that edge creeping up on me fast, the heat in my balls tightening. I knew I wasn’t gonna last much longer, not with the way she was clenching around me, so hot and tight and just relentless.

I didn’t wanna pull out, didn’t even think about it, if I’m being honest, just kept pounding into her, the wet slap of skin on skin filling up the tiny room. Her breath hitched again, louder this time, and then she was shuddering under me, her whole body locking up for a second before she let out this low, guttural sound. It wasn’t some fake-ass porn moan, just real and raw. I felt her pulse around me, squeezing hard, and that was it for me. “Shit,” I grunted, barely getting the word out before I came, hard and fast, spilling into her without even a second thought. My thrusts got all sloppy, stuttering as I rode it out, the heat of it just overwhelming, my head spinning from the release. I didn’t stop moving right away, just kept going for a few more seconds, slower now, feeling the mess of it, the way everything got slicker with my cum mixing with her wetness. My arms were shaking a bit, holding me up over her, and I could feel sweat dripping off my forehead onto her collarbone. She didn’t say anything, just lay there breathing heavy, her chest heaving under me, her legs loosening their grip but not letting go completely.

I finally pulled out, slow, wincing a little as the sensitivity hit me. I was still half-hard, all glistening with the mess of us, and I could see the wet spot on her underwear, still pushed to the side, a mix of my cum and her juices starting to leak out onto her thigh. It wasn’t pretty or clean or any of that, just real, sticky and raw, the faint musky smell hitting me as I shifted back. Her skin down there was flushed, kinda swollen from how rough we’d been, dark hair matted with wetness, and I couldn’t help but stare for a second before looking away, feeling like a damn creep but not enough to stop myself. I rolled off her, flopping onto my back on the mattress, my chest still pounding hard, jeans and boxers still bunched around my knees like a total idiot. The room felt hot now, stuffy as hell, the radiator humming louder than before, and I could feel the damp sheets sticking to my skin underneath me.

She barely moved, just pulled her bra back down over her chest and fixed her underwear, not even bothering to wipe off or anything. Her breathing was calming down, but she wouldn’t look at me, just stared up at the ceiling, one arm slung across her stomach. I didn’t have a clue what to say, and I sure as hell wasn’t gonna start some big, deep talk or whatever. My head was still kinda spinning, the buzz from those beers long gone, replaced by this heavy, dragging tiredness. I yanked my boxers and jeans back up, fumbling with the zipper for a second ‘cause my hands were still shaky. The silence wasn’t exactly weird, just… thick, ya know? Like we’d sucked all the air outta the room. I could hear a car rumbling outside on Grønnegata, the low noise cutting through the quiet, and somewhere in the building, a door slammed shut with a bang.

“Guess I should get going,” I muttered after a bit, my voice all rough and scratchy, not really looking at her as I sat up. Didn’t wanna overstay my welcome or make things awkward, and I definitely wasn’t gonna hang around hoping for some kinda… I dunno, connection or something. That’s not how this goes. I grabbed my shirt off the floor, pulling it on fast, the fabric sticking to my sweaty back. She just shrugged, still lying there, one hand messing with a loose thread on the mattress. “Yeah, sure,” she said, her voice flat, like she couldn’t care less either way. No disappointment, no nothing, just… whatever. She finally sat up, reaching for a pack of smokes on the little table by the bed, lighting one up without even glancing my way to offer. The sharp stink of tobacco hit me, cutting through the lingering smell of sex, and I watched the smoke curl up toward the ceiling for a second before I got up.

I shoved my feet into my boots, not bothering to lace ‘em up properly, and grabbed my jacket off the chair. My legs were still a little wobbly, but no way I was gonna let that show. I shot her one last look, her sitting there, cigarette between her lips, hair all messed up, not giving a damn about me. And that’s fine. I didn’t mean shit to her, and she didn’t to me. Just a thing that happened, raw and over. “See ya ‘round, I guess,” I mumbled, heading for the door, my hand already on the knob. Didn’t wait for her to say anything back, didn’t expect her to. Just stepped out into the dim hallway, the cold air smacking me as the door clicked shut behind me.

The stairwell stank of damp carpet again, and I trudged down the steps, my boots echoing way louder than they should’ve in the empty building. Outside, the Tromsø night was still dark as hell, the wind biting at my face while I zipped up my jacket. Didn’t glance back at her window, didn’t think about much at all except getting to my truck parked a block over. My phone buzzed in my pocket as I walked, probably one of the guys from the plant texting to see if I’m hitting up Arctic Pub again tomorrow. I ignored it. Too damn tired to deal with that right now.

Halfway down Grønnegata, I stopped by a dumpster to take a piss, the cold making my hands fumble with my zipper again. Some drunk idiot yelled something from across the street, probably thinking I was up to no good or whatever, but I didn’t give a crap. Just finished up, shook off, and kept walking. The faint glow of the Tromsøbrua bridge was off in the distance, looking like it was mocking me for no damn reason at all.