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 there I was, up to my elbows in a crate of half-rotten potatoes at the market on Storgata in Lillehammer, Norway, when I first spotted her. Man, the air stunk of wet dirt and fish from the stalls nearby, and my hands were damn near frozen from pawing through those soggy veggies. It was a miserable Thursday morning, gray as all hell, with that bone-deep cold that no amount of layers can keep out. I’d been up since five, dragging my sorry self down from the farm in Øyer with my uncle to haul his produce, and I was already in a crap mood. Then I saw her, Ingrid, I’d find out later, poking through some carrots a few stalls over. She had a scarf wound tight around her neck, cheeks all red from the wind. Look, she wasn’t some stunning beauty or anything, alright? I’m not gonna sit here and pretend I was hit by a thunderbolt or some nonsense. She was just… there, you know? Average height, a bit stocky, messy blonde hair poking out from under a knit hat. But the way she moved, real slow and careful, like she was inspecting every single carrot before even thinking about buying one, it caught my attention. I’ll admit, I stared a little too long. I’m not proud of it. I’m 32, been single forever, busting my ass on a farm with zero social life unless you count bickering with my uncle over tractor parts. So yeah, I notice stuff like that.

I’m Lars, by the way. Born and raised in this icy little corner of Norway, never really been anywhere except a couple of sloppy weekends in Oslo. I’m no smooth talker, that’s for sure. Built like a damn wall, got a beard that’s more laziness than fashion, and half the time I probably reek of diesel. But I’ve got eyes, and yeah, I’ve got needs, and that morning on Storgata, I was bored out of my freaking mind. Watching Ingrid mess with those carrots was honestly the highlight of my day. I didn’t say a word at first, just kept sorting through potatoes, chucking the bad ones into a bucket, stealing glances her way every now and then. She was with some other woman, taller, dark hair, sharp nose, maybe a sister or a friend, I couldn’t tell. They were chatting quietly, laughing about something, and for a split second, Ingrid caught my eye. No smile, no nothing, just looked straight through me like I was part of the background. Kinda ticked me off, to be honest. I’m used to being invisible around here, small town, everyone knows everyone, and I’m just the grumpy farmer’s nephew, but still, a little nod or something would’ve been nice.

Anyway, I figured that was the end of it. Market days drag on forever, and I had a truckload of stuff to sell before I could even dream of grabbing a beer at Bryggerikjelleren down the road. But then, like an hour later, I’m lugging a sack of turnips back to the stall when I hear someone yell behind me. “Hey, you! Potato guy!” I turn around, half-expecting some old lady to chew me out for overcharging, but nope, it’s Ingrid. Up close, she’s got these pale blue eyes, kinda watery from the cold, and this smirk like she knows she’s messing up my day and doesn’t give a damn. Her friend’s a few steps back, arms crossed, looking like she’d rather be literally anywhere else. “Yeah?” I grunt, dropping the sack with a heavy thud. My back’s screaming at me, and I’m not in the mood for whatever this is. “You got any decent spuds left, or is it all mush back there?” Her voice is rough, like she’s smoked one too many or just doesn’t bother with politeness. I kinda liked it, even if I didn’t wanna admit it to myself.

I shrug, wiping my hands on my jeans. “Got some alright ones. Depends what you need. Cooking for a bunch of people or what?” She snorts. “Nah, just me and Kari here. But I’m not shelling out for garbage, so show me the good stuff.” Kari, the tall one, rolls her eyes but keeps quiet. I get the feeling she’s used to Ingrid being a pain. So I lead them back to the stall, dig out a few decent potatoes from a crate under the table, and hold one up like I’m some hotshot salesman. “These aren’t bad. Five kroner a kilo. Take it or leave it.” Ingrid snatches one, turns it over in her gloved hands, and gives me this look, like she’s testing me, not the potato. “You grow these yourself, or are you just the muscle around here?” I can’t help but laugh. “Little of both. Family farm up in Øyer. I don’t just stand here looking pretty.” She grins at that, and for the first time, I feel something shift. Not some sappy, romantic crap, just a tiny spark of… I don’t know, something. Like maybe she’s not just here for spuds.

Kari mumbles something about checking out the fish stall and wanders off, leaving me and Ingrid standing there, her still clutching that dumb potato like it’s a weapon. We end up chatting for a bit after that. Nothing heavy, just random stuff, market gossip, the lousy weather, how the tourist season’s kicking off with skiers flooding into town. She mentions she works at a café on Kirkegata, some spot called Kaffistova I’ve been to a couple times for a cheap bite. Says she hates it, but hey, it pays the bills. I tell her about the farm, how I’ll probably keel over hauling hay bales before I ever get outta Lillehammer. It’s not flirty or anything, not really, but there’s this vibe, you know? Like we’re both checking each other out, waiting for someone to say something dumb or make a move. Then, outta nowhere, she goes, “You drink, Lars?” I blink, caught off guard. “Uh, yeah. When I’ve got the cash for it. Why?” “Me and Kari are grabbing a pint at Nikkers later.”

Hey, you gotta come out with us. Unless you’re too scared a couple of girls might drink you under the table.” She smirked at me again, and man, I don’t know why, but it got under my skin in this weird way I can’t even put into words. We’re talking about Nikkers, this old dive on Storgata, right by the river. It’s got wood paneling everywhere and floors so sticky you’d think they haven’t been cleaned since the 80s. Half the town ends up there on a Thursday night, especially when it’s freezing out and there’s nothing else to do. I hadn’t been in ages, mostly ‘cause I’m either broke as hell or just too wiped out, but the thought of sitting across from Ingrid, seeing that smirk over a cold beer… yeah, it was tempting. Real tempting. I couldn’t figure her out, maybe she was just bored, maybe she was screwing with me, but no way was I gonna turn her down. “Alright,” I mumbled, scratching the back of my neck like some awkward idiot. “If I can get outta here before it’s pitch black, I’ll stop by. No promises, though. Got a ton of crap to pack up.” She just nodded, like she couldn’t care less either way, and chucked the potato back into the crate. “Cool. See ya if I see ya.” Then she spun around and went off to find Kari, leaving me standing there like a total dumbass, wondering what the heck just happened.

The rest of the day dragged on forever. I sold a few more sacks of whatever, got yelled at by my uncle for stacking the crates all wrong, same old, same old, and kept glancing at the time on my cracked-ass phone. By the time we were loading up the truck, it was almost six, and I was dead tired. But I couldn’t get Ingrid outta my head, probably already at Nikkers, a couple drinks in, that damn smirk still plastered on her face. I wasn’t even sure if Kari would be okay with me showing up, or if this was some kinda prank, but my stupid self was curious. Okay, more than curious, if I’m being real. I haven’t had a proper night out in ages, and something about Ingrid, her straight-up attitude, the way she just says whatever, made me wanna see what this was about. I told my uncle I’d grab a ride back to the farm later, ignored his usual grumbling, and started walking down Storgata toward the bar. The streets were dead quiet, just a handful of people bundled up against the cold, Christmas lights still hanging even though it’s freaking late January. My boots crunched on the icy sidewalk, breath puffing out in little clouds. I had no clue what I was walking into, but when I shoved open the heavy door to Nikkers, that familiar warm stink of beer and old wood hit me, and I scanned the room for her.

There she was, tucked at a small table near the back of Nikkers, kinda hidden behind a couple empty pint glasses. Ingrid had ditched her scarf and hat, her blonde hair all messy like she’d been running her hands through it nonstop. Kari was there too, slouched in her chair, scrolling on her phone with this bored-as-hell look. The bar was maybe half-full, mostly familiar faces, locals I’ve seen around town, some guys from the hardware store on Elvegata, a few older ladies gossiping over cheap wine, the usual crowd. The jukebox was playing some old Norwegian rock tune, quiet enough that you could still hear glasses clinking and the low hum of drunk people talking. I felt outta place for a sec, like I was crashing something, but then Ingrid caught my eye and waved me over with this lazy little flick of her hand. “Took you long enough, potato guy,” she said as I dragged a chair over. Her voice was already a bit slurred, and her eyes had that glassy look. She’d probably been here an hour or two already. Kari barely glanced up, just gave me a quick nod before going back to her phone. “Yeah, well, some of us got actual work to do,” I fired back, shrugging off my jacket. It reeked of damp wool and farm dirt, and I was praying they wouldn’t notice. I flagged down the bartender, Tor, this guy I went to school with way back, and ordered a Hansa from the tap. Cheap as dirt, but it’s all I could afford.

We sat there for a while, just chatting about random stuff, nothing deep. Ingrid did most of the talking, ranting about some jerk customer at Kaffistova who tipped her a single krone on a 200-kroner tab. She said she almost chucked the coin right back at him. Kari threw in a comment here and there, mostly to call Ingrid overdramatic, but you could tell they’re super close. Me, I just sat there, sipping my beer, trying not to stare too hard at the way Ingrid’s mouth moved when she laughed, or how her fingers kept tapping the table like she couldn’t sit still for two seconds. I’m not smooth, never have been, so I had no idea how to, like, move things along or whatever. But the longer we sat there, the more I felt this… I dunno, this pull, like a quiet buzz in my chest. She’d catch my eye every few minutes, hold it just a beat too long, and I started wondering if she was messing with me or if maybe she felt something too. After my second beer, and her third or fourth, I lost track, Kari got up, muttering about catching the last bus back to her place near Maihaugen. She shot Ingrid this look, like a warning or something, but Ingrid just waved her off. “I’m fine, mom. Go home.” Kari rolled her eyes, grabbed her coat, and left without another word. And just like that, it was just me and Ingrid, sitting at this sticky little table, the noise of Nikkers kinda fading into the background.

She leaned forward a bit, elbows on the table, and grinned at me. “So, Lars. You always this quiet, or are you just shy around me?” I snorted, wiping some beer foam off my lip. “Ain’t shy. Just don’t got much to say. You talk enough for the both of us.” That got a laugh outta her, sharp and loud, and she leaned back, crossing her arms. “Fair enough. But I ain’t buying it. You’ve been staring at me since the market. What’s your deal?” My face got hot, and I hated myself for it.

Man, I suck at this kind of thing, always have. But I thought, screw it, might as well just lay it out there for her. “Look, you’re interesting, okay? Way more than most of the folks around here. That a bad thing?” She kinda tilted her head, eyeing me like I was some weird vegetable or something we’d been messing with earlier. Then, real quiet, she goes, “No, not bad. Kinda nice, actually.” There was this heavy pause after that, like neither of us knew what to say next. The air felt… charged, you know? Like that tense vibe right before a storm hits. I could tell I wasn’t making this up in my head. She wanted something, and hell, so did I.

I chugged the rest of my beer in one go, mostly just to give my hands something to do. She watched me the whole damn time, didn’t look away once. Then she got up, a bit unsteady on her feet, and nodded toward the door. “Come on, let’s get some air. It’s hot as hell in here.” Now, it wasn’t hot at all, not even close, but I didn’t argue. Grabbed my jacket, slung it on, and followed her out into the cold. Storgata was dead silent at this hour, just the faint orange glow of streetlights and the crunch of snow under our boots as we walked. The river was off to our left, this dark streak, and I could hear it rushing under the ice, low and steady.

Ingrid pulled out a cigarette, lit it up, the smoke curling into the freezing air. She offered me one, but I shook my head. Quit years back, mostly ‘cause I couldn’t keep affording that crap. She just shrugged and took a long drag. We kept walking, not really talking, just wandering with no real destination in mind. Then she stopped by the old bridge near Mesnaelva, leaned against the railing, and gave me this look with those pale eyes of hers. “You wanna kiss me, don’t you?” she said, straight-up, no filter, cigarette still hanging from her lips. I froze for a split second, caught off guard, but then I stepped in closer. “Yeah, I do. That an issue?” She smirked, flicked the cigarette into the snow, and grabbed the front of my jacket. “Not at all.”

Next thing I know, she’s pulling me in, and her mouth slams into mine. Tasted like beer, tobacco, and something sharp, sour maybe, I couldn’t quite figure it out. It wasn’t soft or romantic or any of that, just raw, hungry. Her lips were rough, teeth catching my bottom lip a bit too hard. My hands went to her waist without even thinking, gripping through her thick coat, and she pressed right up against me, solid and warm under all those layers. We kept at it like that for a minute, maybe two, right there on the bridge, the cold nipping at my face. Her hands slid to my neck, fingers freezing against my skin, and, well, I was already getting hard, my jeans feeling way too tight. Not proud of how quick that happened, but it’d been a damn long time, and now she’s grinding against me, not even trying to be subtle.

I let out a groan into her mouth, couldn’t hold it back, and she laughed, this low, rough sound against my lips. “Damn, you’re easy,” she muttered, pulling back just enough to look at me. Her cheeks were all red, breath coming out in sharp little puffs. I didn’t have a smart comeback, just yanked her back in, kissing her harder, my hands sliding down to grab her ass through her jeans. She didn’t push me off, just leaned into it, her hips rocking a bit, like she was egging me on to keep going.

We stumbled off the bridge after that, half-laughing, half-grabbing at each other, until we ended up in this dark spot by the side of some old building. Used to be a bakery or something, I think, now all shuttered up. It wasn’t exactly private, but it was late, and no one was around to see. She shoved me against the brick wall, her hands already messing with my belt, and I didn’t stop her. My heart was pounding so hard I thought I might just keel over. My jeans were stupid tight by now, and when she got the buckle undone and yanked the zipper down, well, I was already half out, leaking a bit at the tip. I’m not some big shot down there, just average, decent enough I guess, but the way she looked at it? Like she was starving. That messed with my head in ways I can’t even describe.

“Goddamn,” she said, wrapping her cold-ass hand around me, stroking slow at first. I hissed at the feeling, head tipping back against the wall. Her grip was solid, a little rough, thumb brushing over the tip, spreading the wetness around. I could smell her now, not just the beer and smoke but something stronger, like sweat and skin, and it made me wanna rip her clothes off right there. I reached for her jeans, fumbling with the button like an idiot, and she let me, still working me over while I got her pants open and shoved my hand in. Nothing fancy under there, just plain cotton, already damp when my fingers brushed over her. I pushed past it, found her, and she was soaked, slick against my fingertips.

She gasped a little, her hand tightening on me, and I rubbed at her clit, clumsy as hell but trying, feeling her twitch under my touch. “Fuck, yeah,” she breathed out, hips pushing into my hand, and I slid a finger in, then two, feeling how tight and hot she was. We were a damn mess, panting, grinding against each other, my jeans half-down, hers unzipped, the cold air biting at my bare ass while we kept going. I wanted to just fuck her right there, no rubber, no nothing, just stupid and raw, but some tiny part of my brain was still functioning enough to know that’s a dumbass move.

I pulled my hand out, fingers slick with her, and grabbed her hips, spinning her around so she was facing the wall. She braced herself against the brick, sticking her ass out, and looked back at me over her shoulder, eyes all wild. “Do it,” she said, voice rough and hoarse, and I didn’t need her to say it twice. I shoved her jeans and underwear down just enough, seeing her pale skin, the curve of her ass, and the dark hair between her legs, glistening even in the faint light.

Man, I was so hard it hurt, just dying to be inside her. I spit into my hand, smeared it over myself for a little slickness, you know, something to make it easier. I didn’t have a condom on me, haven’t carried one in forever, and honestly, she didn’t seem to give a damn. She just pressed back against me, like she couldn’t wait another second. I got myself lined up, the tip brushing against her, feeling how wet and ready she was, and started easing in, real slow at first. Goddamn, she was tight, and I had to grit my teeth to keep from losing it right there. I let out a groan as I slid in, bit by bit, her heat just clamping down on me like a damn vice. She made this sharp, breathy noise, half like it hurt, half like something else, and pushed back harder, taking me deeper. No rubber, no nothing, just raw skin on skin. I knew it was stupid as hell, but my brain? Yeah, it wasn’t in charge anymore.

She was so wet it didn’t take much to move, but that tightness, man, it had my knees damn near giving out. I grabbed her hips, my fingers digging into the soft skin under her scrunched-up coat, and started thrusting, pulling out a little, then pushing back in, harder each time. “Fuck, yeah, like that,” Ingrid rasped out, her voice all rough, head leaning forward against the brick wall. Her ass jiggled a bit with every thrust, pale under the dim streetlight, and I couldn’t peel my eyes away, couldn’t stop even if I wanted to. The cold air stung my bare skin, my jeans still halfway down my thighs, but her heat was all I could feel, like it was burning me up from the inside out. I could smell her too, sharp and musky, mixed with the damp brick and this faint, gross whiff of old trash from some nearby bin. It wasn’t sexy like in the movies or whatever, just real, raw, the kinda smell that sticks with you.

I started going faster, slamming into her harder, the sound of skin smacking skin echoing in the quiet alley. My balls were already tightening, way too damn soon, and I muttered a curse under my breath, trying to hold off. She was grunting now, low and rough, one hand braced on the wall while the other slipped down between her legs. I could feel her fingers brushing against me as she touched herself, chasing her own high, and it drove me fucking nuts. I leaned in, my chest pressing against her back, my breath hot on her neck, and bit down lightly on her shoulder through her coat. She hissed, her hips jerking, and I felt her squeeze around me, so tight, like she was right there on the edge. “Shit, I’m gonna, ” she started, but didn’t finish, just gasped and shook, her whole body going tense as she came. Her pussy pulsed around me, gripping so hard I almost lost it right then and there.

I kept going through it, my thrusts all sloppy now, my rhythm totally shot. Sweat was dripping down my back even though the air was freezing. Her hand slowed down between her legs, but she didn’t pull away, just kept pushing back into me, muttering, “Keep going, don’t fuckin’ stop.” Like I needed her to tell me twice. My hands slid up under her coat, grabbing her waist through her sweater, and I fucked into her harder, chasing that edge. My dick was slick with her, every thrust wet and loud as hell, and I could feel it building, my balls pulling up tight. I knew I should’ve pulled out, hell, I *knew* it, but I didn’t. Couldn’t. When it hit, it was like a damn freight train, my whole body locking up as I came inside her, hot and messy, groaning through clenched teeth. I thrust a few more times, riding it out, emptying everything until I was spent, my legs shaking like I’d just hauled ass up a mountain.

We stayed like that for a beat, both of us panting hard, my chest heaving against her back. Then I pulled out, slow, wincing as the cold hit my wet dick. A little trickle of cum slid down her thigh, and she cursed under her breath, yanking her underwear and jeans back up with shaky hands. I tucked myself back into my pants, zipping up fast, the reality of what we just did starting to sink in. No protection, no nothing, just two dumbasses screwing against a wall near Mesnaelva like we didn’t have a single brain cell to share. She turned around, leaning back against the brick, her face all flushed and sweaty, hair sticking to her forehead. She didn’t look at me all sweet or anything, just smirked, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Well, that was somethin’,” she said, her voice all hoarse, and pulled a crumpled pack of smokes from her coat pocket. She lit one up, the flame flickering in the dark, and took a long drag, not bothering to offer me one this time.

“Yeah,” I mumbled, scratching the back of my neck, not really sure what to even say. My heart was still hammering, my dick still twitching a bit in my jeans, but I didn’t feel… much of anything, you know? Not regret, not even satisfaction, just kinda hollow. The high was gone, and now it was just me and her, standing in this shitty alley off Storgata, the cold creeping back into my bones. She blew out a cloud of smoke, eyeing me up and down. “You’re not gonna get all weird now, are ya? ‘Cause I ain’t lookin’ for a boyfriend or any of that crap.” I snorted, shoving my hands into my jacket pockets. “Nah, I’m good. Don’t got time for that shit anyway.” And that’s the truth, farm work don’t leave room for much else, and I ain’t about to pretend I’m some great catch or whatever.

“Good,” she said, nodding like we just shook on a deal. She took another drag, then flicked the cigarette butt into the snow, watching it fizzle out. “Guess I’ll see ya around, potato guy. Maybe at the market or somethin’.” “Yeah, maybe,” I said, shifting on my feet. Honestly, I don’t even know if I wanna see her again or not.

Man, part of me kinda wanted to stick around, you know, maybe go another round of whatever that was, but honestly, I just needed to get back to my uncle’s beat-up truck, flop onto that lumpy-ass couch at the farm, and pretend tonight never happened. My legs were heavy as hell, dragging like I’d run a marathon, and I could still feel that sticky mess in my boxers, yeah, a real nice reminder of how stupid I’d been. She pushed herself off the wall, gave me this quick little nod, like we’re all good, and started walking back toward the main street. Her boots crunched in the snow, echoing a bit. I stood there for a sec, just watching her shrink under the dim streetlights, then I turned the other way, trudging toward where I’d parked the truck by the old post office. The town was creepy quiet now, not a soul around, just some faint car noise way off in the distance and the sound of the river rushing nearby. My breath was coming out in these white puffs, freezing in the air, and I could still taste her on my lips, beer, smoke, and something bitter I couldn’t quite put a name to.

I finally got to the truck, fumbled with the damn keys like an idiot, and hauled myself in. The cab smelled like diesel and stale coffee, same as always. As I started the engine, my phone buzzed in my pocket, and I yanked it out, figuring it’d be my uncle texting me some pissed-off rant about taking forever. But nah, just a stupid low battery warning, the cracked screen flickering like it’s mocking me before it died completely. I chucked it onto the passenger seat, grumbled “fuckin’ figures” to myself, ’cause, you know, why not, and pulled out onto the empty road. Headlights sliced through the pitch black as I drove back toward Øyer, already feeling like I could pass out right there at the wheel.