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’m sitting there at the Esso gas station on Prinsens Gate in Trondheim, halfway through this godawful microwaved burrito that tastes like cardboard and regret. It’s one of those miserable November afternoons, you know, where the sky looks like someone smeared it with a grimy finger, and the cold just seeps right into you, no matter how many jackets you pile on. I’m perched on this pathetic little plastic stool by the window, watching the sleet make a mess of the glass, when she walks in. At first, I don’t think much of it, just another person popping in for a coffee or some overpriced snack from the shop. But then, she kinda hangs around near the counter, messing with her wallet, and I catch her looking my way. Not sneaky or anything, just straight-up staring for a beat before turning her head. Now, I’m not exactly the kinda guy who turns heads, alright? I’m Espen, 34, working weird hours at the Rema 1000 on Munkegata, restocking shelves and putting up with grumpy old ladies who can’t find their freaking oat milk. I’ve got a bit of a gut from too many late-night kebabs at Døgnvill, and my hair’s thinning way faster than I wanna admit. So when a woman like her, late 20s, maybe early 30s, with these sharp cheekbones and this wired, restless sorta energy, gives me a look, I’m thinking, nah, must be a mistake. Or she’s just bored out of her mind.

Turns out her name’s Ingrid, which I find out later. Real typical Norwegian name, nothing special, just like half the people around here. She’s got on this puffy black jacket, unzipped just enough to show a tight gray sweater underneath, and jeans that, well, let’s just say I noticed more than I probably should’ve. Her blond hair’s a messy ponytail, like she couldn’t be arsed to fix it, and she’s got this vibe, like she’s perpetually a bit annoyed at the world but also itching to do something about it. I dunno, maybe I’m reading too much into it. All I’m saying is, she didn’t seem like she was there for the stale buns or the crappy energy drinks. I keep chomping on my burrito, acting like I don’t give a shit, but I can feel her eyes on me again. I glance up, and this time she doesn’t look away. Just raises an eyebrow, like she’s challenging me to open my mouth. I don’t. I’m trash at that kinda stuff. I just give this quick, awkward nod, like a total moron, and go back to my food. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her smirk, damn it, I saw that, and then she grabs her coffee from the counter and walks over. Not right at me, but close enough, sitting at the next table over, facing my direction.

“You always eat here, or are you just slumming it today?” she says, her voice kinda low but clear, with that Trondheim drawl that stretches the vowels a little. She’s not smiling, just looking at me like she’s already got me figured out. I shrug, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand like some caveman. “It’s cheap. And I don’t gotta cook. What about you?” She takes a sip of her coffee and winces, like it tastes like burnt garbage. “Needed a break. Been driving around for hours. Figured I’d see what kinda oddballs hang out at gas stations in the middle of nowhere.” I snort. “Trondheim’s hardly nowhere. But yeah, guess I’m filling the oddball quota today.” She doesn’t laugh, but her mouth kinda twitches, and she leans back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other like she’s settling in.

We don’t say much for a minute, just sit there with the hum of the gas station fridge droning in the background and the odd car pulling up outside. I finish my burrito, crumple the wrapper, and chuck it at the bin by the door. Miss, naturally. She watches it roll across the floor and doesn’t say a word about it. “Where you driving from?” I ask, mostly just to break the quiet. I’m not trying to flirt or anything, or at least that’s what I’m telling myself. Just curious, you know? She doesn’t look like she fits in a dump like this, even if her clothes aren’t all fancy or whatever. “Up from Stjørdal,” she says, naming this little town about an hour east. “Was visiting a friend there. Now I’m just… I dunno, killing time before I head back to my place near Nardo.” That’s a neighborhood south of the city center, not too far from the university. I know it decently, used to mess around at the Kiwi store there with some mates back in the day, sneaking beers when we were too young to buy ‘em legit.

“Long way to drive just to kill time,” I say, scratching at the stubble on my chin. Haven’t shaved in a couple days, probably look like a slob, but whatever. There’s something about how she’s sitting there, eyeing me like I’m some kinda puzzle she hasn’t solved yet, that makes me wanna keep the convo going. “Yeah, well, I don’t got much else to do,” she says, and there’s this edge to her voice, like she’s annoyed at herself for even saying it. “What about you? You just sit here staring at folks, or you got a life outside this hole?” I can’t help but grin. “Got a life. It’s just boring as hell. Work, sleep, eat crap like this. Rinse and repeat. You get it.” She nods, like she does get it, and takes another sip of that awful coffee. Her eyes flick down to my hands for a second, dunno why, maybe checking for a ring or something. I’m not married, never have been, but my knuckles are all rough from years of hauling boxes and moving crap around. Not exactly charming.

We keep chatting for a bit, nothing heavy, just small talk. She mentions she works at some office job near Lade, doing data entry or some soul-sucking thing like that, and she hates it. I tell her about the time I dropped a whole pallet of canned soup at work and got reamed out by my boss in front of a bunch of customers. Just dumb stuff, you know, passing the time.

She didn’t crack a smile or anything, but her expression kinda softened, like she got a kick out of how dumb the whole thing was. Outside, the sleet had turned into real snow, big, heavy flakes sticking to the ground. The gas station was dead now, just us and the cashier dude zoned out on his phone behind the counter. I peeked at the clock on the wall, almost 5 p.m. Didn’t have anywhere to be, not really. My shift at Rema wasn’t until tomorrow morning, and honestly, my tiny place over on Bakkegata felt more like a trap than a home most days. I wasn’t ready to head back there just yet.

“You sticking around, or you got somewhere to go?” I tossed out, trying to keep it chill. My heart was doing this stupid little thump, though, like I was some awkward teen asking a crush out. Hell, I didn’t even know what I was getting at. Just didn’t want her to bounce yet. Ingrid tilted her head a bit, sizing me up. Her eyes were this pale blue, almost gray, and sharp as hell, like she could see straight through any crap I might try to pull. “Depends,” she said, stretching the word out slow. “What’s around here worth sticking around for?” I opened my mouth to say something clever, but nada. Just shrugged like an idiot. “Not a whole lot. There’s a bar down on Innherredsveien, near the old Leangen train station. It’s kinda rough, but the beer’s cheap. If you’re into that.”

She didn’t reply right away. Just kept staring, fingers tapping on her coffee cup. Then she got up, real slow, zipping her jacket halfway. “Alright. Show me. I’m not driving back yet anyway.” I blinked, caught off guard that she actually agreed. My stomach did this weird flip, nerves, maybe? I don’t know. I stood too, grabbing my beat-up H&M coat that’s definitely seen better days, and nodded toward the door. “Cool. It’s not far. We can walk unless you wanna drive.” “Walking’s fine,” she said, and there was something in her tone I couldn’t pin down. Not excitement, not quite. More like she was testing the waters, maybe me, maybe herself. I had no clue.

All I knew was I got super aware of how close she was as we headed out the door, the cold air smacking us in the face as we stepped into the snow. It wasn’t a long trek to the bar, maybe fifteen minutes, but I kept sneaking glances at her, wondering what the hell I was even doing. She didn’t talk much, just kept her hands in her pockets, head down against the wind. The streets were quiet, just the crunch of snow under our boots and the faint hum of cars on E6 in the distance. I pointed out a couple things as we passed, the old bakery on Buran that’s been there forever, some graffiti on the Nidar chocolate factory wall, but she just nodded, not really biting.

When we got to the bar, this grimy little spot called Skjenkestua with a flickering neon sign out front, I held the door for her. She shot me a quick look, not a thanks, just a glance, and stepped in. The place reeked of stale beer and old cigarette smoke, even though you haven’t been able to smoke inside for years. A couple of rough-looking old dudes were at the counter, nursing their pints, while some crappy ‘80s rock played low on the jukebox in the corner. I didn’t know what was gonna happen next, but there was this weird tension between us, like the air right before a storm hits. We snagged a table near the back, and I went to grab us some drinks, my head spinning with half-baked thoughts I wasn’t ready to face.

I came back with two pints of Hansa, the cheapest stuff they had on tap at Skjenkestua. The glasses were smudged, probably not washed right, but whatever. Ingrid didn’t seem to care either. She took hers without a word, just a little nod, and we clinked them together more out of habit than anything. First sip tasted like watered-down garbage, but it was cold, so good enough. We sat there for a minute, not saying much at first, just soaking in the dim, grungy feel of the place. The jukebox flipped to some old Bon Jovi song, all crackly and messed up, and one of the old guys at the counter started mumbling along like he thought he was at karaoke night or something.

I kept glancing at her, trying not to make it obvious. Her jacket was off now, draped over the chair, and that gray sweater she had on… well, let’s just say my eyes kept wandering. She caught me once, didn’t say a word, just raised an eyebrow like she did back at the Esso. I smirked, played it off, and took another gulp of beer. My palms were sweaty, which was dumb, I’m not some kid on a first date or whatever this even is. But there was something about her, the way she sat there so casual but alert, like she was waiting for me to either step up or screw up. Maybe both.

“So, you hang out at spots like this a lot?” I asked, just to break the silence. My voice sounded a little rough, probably from the cold still stuck in my throat. She let out a short, dry snort. “Nah. Not my thing. Too many sad old drunks. But it beats sitting in my car or going home to stare at my walls.” She paused, rolling the glass between her hands. “What about you?” “Sometimes,” I said with a shrug. “When I’ve got nothing better going on. It’s close to my place, and I’m not exactly swimming in cash to hit up the fancier spots by Solsiden.” She nodded like that made sense, and we fell quiet again.

Nah, it wasn’t awkward, not exactly. More like we were just… checking each other out, trying to figure out what the heck was going on between us. I downed my beer faster than I planned, and that little buzz was starting to sneak up on me, just tickling the edges of my brain. I got up to grab us another round, and when I came back, she was leaning in a bit, elbows propped on the table, staring right at me. Then, outta nowhere, she goes, “You’re not as boring as you think, Espen.” Her voice wasn’t flirty or anything, just straight-up, like she was telling me it’s gonna rain later. I blinked, kinda thrown off. “Uh, thanks? I guess? Wasn’t really trying to be all exciting or whatever.” “Exactly,” she said, a tiny smirk pulling at her lips. “That’s the thing. You’re just… you. Not putting on some big show to impress anyone. I’m so over guys who act like they’ve got something to prove.” I didn’t even know how to respond to that. Just sat there, clutching my fresh beer, feeling my face heat up a little. Not ‘cause I was embarrassed or anything, just… I’m not used to people saying stuff like that to me, ya know? I mumbled something dumb about not having the energy to fake it, and she let out this short, sharp laugh, the first real one I’d heard from her. It wasn’t all cutesy or girly, just raw and real.

We kept drinking, kept talking, mostly about random crap. She bitched about her boss at the office near Lade, and I told her about that stupid time I got stuck in the Rema 1000 freezer for a whole hour ‘cause the damn door wouldn’t budge. But the whole time, I could feel this… thing growing inside me, like a weird pressure in my chest or something. Every time she leaned in closer to say stuff over the bar noise, I caught this faint whiff of her, cheap shampoo mixed with a bit of sweat from being out in the cold. It wasn’t sexy like in the movies or whatever, just… human, I guess. And for some dumb reason, it got under my skin.

I don’t even know who made the first move. Could’ve been me, could’ve been her. We were on our third beers by then, the table all sticky with little spilled drops, and the bar was pretty much empty, just us and some old guy passed out at the counter. She was going on about how much she hates driving in the snow, and I was only half-listening, mostly just watching the way her mouth moved when she talked. Then she just… stopped. Looked at me with that same sharp, almost daring look she had earlier. My heart did that dumb pounding thing again, and before I could overthink it, I leaned in. She didn’t pull away. Her lips crashed into mine, not soft or shy, just full-on. Her mouth tasted like beer with a hint of the coffee she’d had earlier, all bitter and warm. My hand somehow ended up at the back of her neck, fingers getting caught in the loose hairs slipping out of her ponytail. She made this little sound, not a moan, just a quick breath through her nose, and pushed into the kiss harder, her teeth grazing my bottom lip for a split second. It wasn’t smooth or perfect or any of that crap. It was messy, kinda sloppy, and I could feel the edge of the table digging into my side as I leaned over it.

We pulled back for a second, both of us breathing heavier, and I caught her eyes flick down to my mouth before snapping back up. “Bathroom,” she muttered, her voice low and kinda rough, already getting up. I didn’t argue. Didn’t even think twice. Just followed her like my brain had checked out. The bathroom was down this short, grimy hallway past the jukebox, the kinda place that probably hasn’t been cleaned since forever. The door’s lock was busted, but she shoved it open anyway, and I pushed it shut behind us with my shoulder. It stank in there, like piss and cheap air freshener, and the fluorescent light above the cracked sink kept flickering. Didn’t care. She spun around quick, grabbed the front of my coat, and pulled me in again. This kiss was hungrier, her tongue pushing into my mouth without any hesitation. My hands went to her hips, gripping through her jeans, and I could feel the heat of her even with all the layers. She shrugged off her jacket, letting it fall to the nasty floor, and I did the same with mine, not giving a crap where it landed.

Her sweater was tight, and when I slid my hands underneath, her skin was warm, a little damp with sweat. She sucked in a breath, her stomach twitching under my fingers, and I pushed the fabric up higher, seeing her bra, just a plain black one, nothing fancy, just practical. My thumbs brushed along the edges of it, and she grabbed my wrists, not to stop me, just to hold on, her nails digging in a little. I could feel myself already hard as hell, straining against my jeans just from this, and I knew she noticed when she pressed closer, her thigh brushing against me. “Fuck,” I muttered, my voice all thick, and she smirked again, reaching down to mess with my belt. Her fingers weren’t steady, and the buckle got stuck for a second, making us both curse under our breath. When she finally got it undone, she didn’t mess around, shoving my jeans and boxers down just enough to free me. Look, I’m not gonna pretend I’m anything special down there, average at best, nothing to brag about, but the way her hand wrapped around me, rough and tight, made me groan like a total idiot. She stroked once, twice, her thumb swiping over the tip where I was already kinda leaking, and I had to grit my teeth to keep from losing it right then and there.

I pushed her back against the sink, probably digging into her ass, and tugged at her jeans. They were tight as hell, and it took a second to get the button and zipper down, both of us fumbling and breathing hard.

So, I finally managed to get her jeans down past her hips, along with this mismatched gray cotton underwear she had on. And there it was, the dark blond hair between her legs, all natural, untrimmed, just real. My fingers kinda stumbled their way down there, awkward as hell at first, but she was already wet, slick and warm. She let out this sharp hiss, her head falling back against the mirror, and I started rubbing at her clit, not totally sure if I was doing it right, just going off how her hips kept jerking. “Condom?” she breathed out, her eyes half-closed but still sharp, like she wasn’t completely lost in it yet. I nodded, fumbling with one hand in my back pocket while the other stayed busy, pulling out my wallet. I had one in there, old as dirt, probably from like a year ago, but hey, it wasn’t expired. Ripped the packet open with my teeth, yeah, real smooth, and rolled it on while she watched, her chest heaving under that bunched-up sweater of hers.

I stepped in closer, hooking one of her legs around my hip, her jeans still tangled around her knees. The angle was all kinds of messed up, with the sink in the way, but I didn’t give a damn. I pushed in slow at first, feeling how tight she was around me, both of us kinda grunting at the stretch. She had one hand gripping the edge of the sink, the other on my shoulder, nails digging into me through my shirt. Up close, I could smell her, sweat mixed with something sharper, raw, just pure arousal. My hips started moving on their own, shallow thrusts at first, trying to figure out a rhythm in this cramped, shitty little space. Her breath hitched, this low sound in her throat, and I sped up, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing in the tiny bathroom. The mirror behind her was starting to fog up a bit, and I could feel sweat beading on my forehead, dripping down my back under my shirt. She mumbled something, couldn’t catch it, maybe a curse, maybe my name, and I leaned in to kiss her again, all messy and rough, tasting the salt on her lips. We were a disaster, half-dressed, clumsy as hell, but who cares? It was just us, right there, caught up in the moment.

I kept thrusting, harder now, the sink rattling every damn time I pushed into her. Her leg tightened around my hip, pulling me deeper, and even through the thin latex of the condom, I could feel her heat, slick and tight. My hands grabbed her ass, fingers digging in, probably leaving marks, but she didn’t seem to mind. She was panting, these short, sharp breaths, head tilted back against the mirror, eyes half-shut but still flicking to mine every few seconds, like she was making sure I was still there. And yeah, I was, where the hell else would I be, even in this nasty, stinking bathroom at Skjenkestua? “Fuck, don’t stop,” she muttered, her voice all hoarse, and trust me, I wasn’t planning to. My hips snapped forward, rough and uneven, the rhythm totally off because of the weird angle and her jeans still bunched around her knees, keeping her from spreading wider. Didn’t matter, though. It was raw, desperate, like we were both after something we couldn’t even put a name to.

I could feel that pressure building, you know, that tight coil in my balls ready to snap, but I gritted my teeth, trying to hold off. Didn’t wanna be that guy who’s done in two minutes, even if this wasn’t some sappy romantic crap. I slid a hand between us, fumbling a little, finding her clit again with my thumb. Rubbed in tight circles, not sure if I was hitting the right spot, but the way she gasped and arched into me? Yeah, I wasn’t too far off. Her pussy clenched around me, hard and sudden, and I groaned, my forehead dropping to her shoulder. Smelled her even stronger there, sharp and musky, mixed with this faint chemical whiff of whatever soap she used. Felt her trembling, her nails scratching at my back through my shirt, and I kept going, fucking into her with everything I had while my thumb kept working her over.

I think she came first. Hard to say for sure ‘cause it wasn’t some over-the-top porn-star moan or anything dramatic. Just this choked sound, her whole body tensing up, her leg shaking against my hip. Her walls pulsed around me, and that was it, I couldn’t hold back anymore. Thrust a couple more times, all sloppy and fast, and then I was coming too, grunting into her neck as I spilled into the condom. My knees almost gave out, no lie, and I had to brace a hand against the sink to keep from collapsing on her. We just stayed like that for a few seconds, both of us breathing heavy, the air in this tiny bathroom thick with the raw, heavy smell of us, sweat, sex, all of it.

I pulled out slow, careful not to let the condom slip, and stepped back just enough to give her some space. My dick was still half-hard, twitching a little as I peeled the rubber off, tied it up, and tossed it into the overflowing trash can by the sink. Real classy, right? She was already pulling her jeans back up, wincing a bit as she adjusted herself, face all flushed but otherwise hard to read. I tugged my own pants up, belt still hanging loose, and wiped my hands on my shirt ‘cause there wasn’t anything else around. Paper towel dispenser on the wall? Empty, of course. “Fuckin’ hell,” I muttered, mostly to myself, running a hand through my hair. It was damp with sweat, sticking to my scalp. I probably looked like a total mess, but whatever. She didn’t say anything at first, just smoothed her sweater down over her stomach and grabbed her jacket off the floor, shaking off whatever crap it picked up down there. “That was… something,” she finally said, voice kinda flat but not cold or anything.

She wasn’t even looking at me, just fiddling with her jacket zipper like it was some life-or-death thing. I nodded, kinda lost for words. My head was still a mess, half-baked from the high, and my body was buzzing with leftover energy, but I wasn’t about to get all emotional or deep or whatever. Nah, that’s not my style, and I’m pretty sure it ain’t hers either. “Yeah. Guess it was,” I mumbled, scratching the back of my neck. My shirt was sticking to me, gross and sweaty, and I could still taste her on my lips, bitter, real. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, all cracked and smudged, looking like some dude who just sprinted a marathon in a bar bathroom. Typical.

She turned toward the door, hand on the handle, then stopped and glanced back at me. “I’m heading out. Got work tomorrow. You good?” I blinked, a little thrown off by how fast she was dipping. Not that I was expecting some big, dramatic goodbye or anything, but still, damn. “Uh, yeah. I’m fine. You?” She gave a quick shrug, just a jerk of her shoulder. “I’ll live. See ya around, Espen. Or not.” There was this faint smirk on her face, but her eyes didn’t match it. Then she pushed the door open and walked out, her boots clicking on the tiled hallway floor ‘til the sound just faded away.

I stood there for a minute, alone in that grimy bathroom, the fluorescent light flickering and buzzing above me like a dying bug. My legs felt like rubber, and my brain was just… a jumbled mess of nothing, really. I didn’t feel much of anything, you know? Not sad she left, not thrilled it happened, just sorta hollow. Like I’d burned off some steam and now I’m just standing in a room that reeks of piss with my belt still half-undone. I fixed it, splashed some cold water on my face from the sink, didn’t do much, and grabbed my coat off the floor.

Back in the bar, the place was basically dead. The old dude at the counter was still there, slumped over and snoring now, and the bartender was wiping down glasses with a rag that looked nastier than the counter itself. Ingrid was gone, no trace of her, not even her empty glass on the table we’d been sitting at. I didn’t bother checking outside. What’s the point? I tossed a crumpled 50-kroner note on the counter for the beers, probably not enough, but it’s all I had on me, and headed for the door.

The cold slammed into me like a fist as I stepped out onto Innherredsveien. The snow had stopped, but the ground was a slushy disaster, soaking right through my cheap-ass boots as I started walking back to my place on Bakkegata. The city was quiet, just the occasional car splashing through puddles and the faint hum of a tram somewhere down by the station. I shoved my hands into my pockets, feeling the ache in my legs from that awkward angle in the bathroom, and kept my head down against the wind. My mind didn’t really drift to her, not exactly. Just kept looping over stupid stuff, how the sink creaked, how her nails felt on my skin, how I’m probably never washing this coat again ‘cause it smells like her now, in some weird, messed-up way.

I passed the old Nidar factory again, that same half-assed graffiti still there, something about “fuck the system” or whatever. Made me snort. Like, what system? I’m just some guy stacking shelves at Rema 1000, hooking up with random girls in dive bar bathrooms. Ain’t no system giving a damn about me. I kept walking, the cold sinking deeper into my bones, ‘til I got to my building, a shitty brick thing with a busted buzzer that hasn’t worked since I moved in three years ago. I fumbled with my keys, got the door open, and dragged myself up the two flights of stairs to my apartment. The hallway stunk of stale pizza and someone’s burnt dinner, same as always.

Inside, I kicked off my boots, didn’t even bother with the lights, and just flopped onto my couch. The springs groaned under me, and I stared up at the ceiling, some water stain up there looking like a messed-up Rorschach test. Didn’t feel like doing anything else. Didn’t feel like thinking about anything else either. Then my phone buzzed in my pocket. I fished it out, half-expecting a text from work about some dumb shift change or whatever. Nah. Just a notification from the weather app, saying more snow tomorrow. I tossed the phone onto the coffee table, where it skidded into an empty beer can from last night, and just laid there, listening to the radiator hiss. Guess I’ll deal with shoveling the sidewalk in the morning, if I feel like it. Or maybe I’ll just let it pile up ‘til the neighbor starts bitching and comes knocking. Whatever, man.