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, halfway through this pretty terrible kebab at this little dive on Storgata in Lillehammer, right? It’s one of those places, Ali’s Kebab, where the fluorescent lights make everybody look half-dead, like we’re all in some cheap zombie movie. And I notice her, across the counter, just staring at me. Not a quick peek, no way, she’s straight-up glaring like I owe her cash or stole her parking spot. Lillehammer’s not exactly huge, you know, maybe 30,000 folks if you count the tourists flocking in for the ski slopes or to snap pics of the old ‘94 Olympic stuff. So, yeah, when someone’s giving you the death stare in a grimy joint like this, you notice.

I’m not exactly the type to turn heads, okay? Just a regular guy, Tore, 34, a little chunky from too many late-night pizzas. I work a mind-numbing job stocking shelves at the local Coop Extra. Got a scruffy beard I keep forgetting to trim, and I’m wearing this beat-up hoodie that’s probably older than some of the kids around here. Point is, I’m not used to anyone, especially not a woman, eyeing me up in a kebab shop at 9 p.m. on a damn Tuesday. But there she is, probably late 20s, short dark hair all messy like she just woke up. She’s got on this puffy jacket over what looks like a thrift-store sweater, nothing special. Her name tag says “Marit”, classic Norwegian name, no surprise there. She’s not some stunning beauty or anything, just… normal. Pale skin, a few freckles, tired eyes. But the way she’s looking at me? Man, it’s intense, like she’s either ready to throw down or… I dunno, something else. I can’t figure it out.

I wipe some sauce off my chin with a napkin, probably looking like a slob, and give her a little nod, like, “What’s your problem?” She doesn’t smile, doesn’t even twitch, just keeps staring for a sec before turning to wipe down the counter. Thing is, it’s already clean. Weird as hell. I figure she’s just bored out of her mind. Ali’s isn’t exactly popping this late, especially mid-week. Most people are either crashed at home or down at Sigrid’s Pub on Elvegata, blowing their money on overpriced beer. I take another bite of my kebab, trying to shake it off, but nah, I feel her eyes on me again. This time I look up fast, catch her right in the middle of it. “You got a problem or something?” I ask. I don’t mean to sound like a jerk, but my voice comes out rough, probably from the cheap vodka I had earlier at my buddy Lars’ place.

She just shrugs, cool as anything. “Nah, just wondering why you’re eating that garbage all by yourself on a Tuesday night.” Her voice is flat, like she couldn’t care less what I say back. She’s got that local accent, you know, the Gudbrandsdalen valley kind with the rolled R’s and short, sharp words. I let out a snort. “And why’re you stuck working the late shift at a kebab shop? Not exactly living the dream.” I wave a hand at the empty place, the cracked linoleum floor, those faded Istanbul posters on the wall that’ve probably been there since the ‘80s. Marit smirks, just a tiny quirk of her lip. “Touché. But I’m not the one looking like I got dumped an hour ago.”

“Piss off, I didn’t get dumped,” I say, laughing even though I don’t mean to. “Just starving after a long day hauling crates of milk and canned soup. What’s your excuse?” She leans on the counter, her elbows sticking a bit to the grimy surface. “Money’s tight. Gotta take whatever shifts I can grab. And Ali’s a decent guy, doesn’t bug me too much.” She stops for a sec, then adds, “You come here a lot, huh? I’ve seen you before.” I nod, kinda surprised she even noticed me. “Yeah, it’s cheap and close to my place. I live just off Kirkegata, near that old cinema that’s been boarded up forever. Easier to grab something here than cook after work.”

She makes this little “hm” noise, like she’s tucking that away in her head or something. Then she straightens up, grabs a rag, and starts wiping down the soda machine, even though it’s fine. I finish my kebab, crumple up the wrapper, and chuck it in the bin by the door. Honestly, I should’ve just headed out, gone back to my crappy one-bedroom apartment with the leaky faucet and the neighbor who blasts death metal at 2 a.m. But… I don’t know, something keeps me there. Maybe it’s how she keeps sneaking looks at me, like she’s waiting for me to say something. Or maybe I’m just lonely as hell and don’t wanna admit it to myself.

“You got anything else on the menu worth eating?” I ask, mostly to break the quiet. I’m not even hungry anymore, just saying stuff. Marit raises an eyebrow. “You for real? It’s all the same junk, just shaped different. Kebab, falafel, pizza slices that’ve been rotting under the heat lamp for three hours. Take your pick.” I chuckle. “Fair enough. Guess I’ll stick to beer next time. You drink?” She hesitates, like she’s not sure if I’m flirting or just shooting the breeze. Truth is, I don’t even know myself. I’m not smooth, never have been. Most of my hookups are sloppy drunken messes at parties or desperate Tinder swipes. But there’s something about how straight-up she is that makes me wanna keep talking.

“Sometimes,” she says after a bit. “Not on the job, though. Ali’d chew me out if he caught me sipping back here.” “Smart,” I say. “When you off, then?” I don’t even know why I asked that. It just slipped out. I’m not usually this bold, but I guess the vodka’s still got me a little buzzed. She looks at me, really looks, like she’s trying to decide if I’m a creep or just a dumbass. “Midnight,” she says after a pause. “Why?”

I shrug, playing it casual even though my heart’s doing this weird thumping thing. “Dunno. Figured maybe you’d wanna grab a drink or something. Sigrid’s isn’t far, and they’re open late.” Marit doesn’t answer right off. She crosses her arms, leans back against the wall behind the counter, and just stares at me again.

Man, I felt like a total idiot, like I’d just stuck my foot in my mouth. I was this close to backpedaling, ready to mutter something like, “Ah, forget it, just messin’ around,” when she cut in. “Maybe. Depends if I’m in the mood to deal with drunk jerks after a long-ass shift.” Her voice wasn’t exactly friendly, but it wasn’t a hard no either. Felt more like she was sizing me up, waiting to see if I’d push too hard or just drop it. I threw my hands up, like, “Hey, no pressure here. Just thought I’d ask. I’m not exactly smooth with this stuff, so don’t expect miracles.” She let out this quick, sharp snort, honest-to-god laugh, short as hell. “Yeah, no kidding. So, what’s your deal anyway? You don’t strike me as the guy who hits on random girls at kebab joints.” I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling kinda exposed. “I’m not, really. I guess I’m just… bored outta my mind. And you don’t look like you’re thrilled to be here either. Figured we could waste some time together, y’know?” She gave a slow nod, like she was mulling it over. “Fair enough. But I’m not promising a damn thing. Might just go home and pass out. Got a double shift tomorrow.” “Cool, cool,” I said, trying not to sound like I cared too much. “I’ll swing by around midnight, see if you’re still around. If not, no sweat.” Marit didn’t say much to that, just tipped her head a little and went back to fiddling with the soda machine. I snagged my jacket off the chair, gave her a half-assed wave, and stepped outside into the cold. Lillehammer in late fall is no joke, wind slices right through you, coming off the hills around Lake Mjøsa. I zipped up my hoodie, jammed my hands in my pockets, and started trudging down Storgata toward my place. Streets were dead, just a couple cars and some old dude smoking outside the Kiwi market. I couldn’t stop thinking about her, though. Not in some mushy, lovey-dovey way, just… curious, y’know? She’s not like most folks around here, who either ignore you or yap about the damn weather. She’s got this edge, like she couldn’t care less what anyone thinks. I don’t even know if she’s into me or just playing along, but I figured I’d find out soon enough. Midnight’s not far off, and it’s not like I’ve got anything better to do than sit in my apartment scrolling through the same old Netflix crap.

As I turned onto Kirkegata, passing the boarded-up cinema with its faded, peeling posters, I got this weird little feeling in my chest. Not excitement or anything, just… something. Like maybe the night wouldn’t be a total snooze after all. I’d head back to Ali’s in a couple hours, see if she’s still there. If not, oh well. If she is, well, we’ll see what happens. I killed the next couple hours at my place, flipping through channels on my ancient-ass TV that barely picks up a signal. My apartment’s a dump, smells like stale coffee and wet laundry, with a stellar view of the brick wall next door on Kirkegata. I cracked open a lukewarm Hansa beer from the fridge, sipped it real slow, trying not to overthink Marit or whether I’d made a complete ass of myself earlier. I’m not usually the type to dwell on stuff, but I kept seeing that smirk of hers, the way she didn’t just tell me to piss off. By 11:30, I was antsy as hell, pacing around my tiny living room, so I grabbed my jacket again and headed back out into the cold. Storgata was even quieter now, just the buzz of streetlights and a random car or two rolling by. The wind stung my face as I passed the shuttered shops, spotting the flickering neon sign for Ali’s Kebab up ahead. I had no clue if she’d still be there, or if she even meant that “maybe” about grabbing a drink. Probably not. I figured I’d look like some desperate loser showing up, but screw it, I was already halfway there.

When I pushed open the door to Ali’s, the little bell jingled, and there she was, still behind the counter, counting change from the register. She glanced up, didn’t look surprised at all, just gave a small nod like she knew I’d be back. The place was empty, just us, heat lamps off, air thick with the smell of old grease and cleaning stuff. “You’re back,” she said, not really asking, just stating it. Her tone was flat, but her eyes darted over me quick, like she was checking if I’d come straight from some bar or whatever. “Yeah, thought I’d see if you’re still down for that drink,” I said, shoving my hands in my pockets so I wouldn’t fidget like an idiot. “No worries if you’re not.” Marit snapped the register shut with a click, leaned on the counter, and stared at me for a long second. “Screw it, why not. I’m done in five. Gotta lock up. Wait outside if you want.” I nodded, stepped back out into the cold, and lit up a cigarette I’d bummed off Lars earlier. The smoke scratched at my throat as I leaned against the wall by the door, staring at the empty street. Five minutes dragged into ten, and I was starting to think she’d slipped out the back or something when she finally came out, bundled up in that same puffy jacket, a scarf slung loose around her neck. “Sigrid’s?” I asked, stomping out the cigarette butt on the ground. “Nah, too many loud drunks this late. I know a spot off Elvegata, quieter. Come on.” She didn’t wait for me to say anything, just started walking, hands in her pockets. I fell in step next to her, the silence between us not exactly cozy but not weird either. Just… there. We passed the old Lillehammer Kino, its marquee still hyping some movie from last year, and turned down a narrow side street I didn’t even know was there. The “spot” ended up being this tiny basement bar called Kjeller’n, barely a sign out front, just a faint light over a stairwell.

So, I walk in, and the place is pretty much dead. Just a couple of old dudes hunched over their beers at the bar, and some scratchy rock tune is barely audible through these crap speakers. The air’s thick with the smell of stale pilsner and cigarette smoke that’s probably been stuck in the walls for decades. Marit heads straight to the bartender, grabs us a couple of Ringnes without even asking if I’m in the mood, and then slides into a corner booth. I follow, and we just sit there drinking in silence for a bit. The beer’s cold, hits the back of my throat with a sharp bite. I’ve got nothing to say, and honestly, she doesn’t seem to give a damn either. After a while, though, she breaks the quiet. “So, Tore, you always this talkative, or am I just special?” I snort, damn near choke on my sip. “Shit, sorry, I’m just no good at this small talk crap. Figured a drink beats going home to stare at my damn ceiling.” She smirks, takes a long swig from her bottle. “Fair enough. I’m not exactly Miss Social either. Rough day, y’know? Just wanna chill, not play a round of twenty questions.” I shrug, feeling a little less tense. “Works for me.”

We keep drinking, keeping the chat light. Mostly just griping about work, her dealing with creepy late-night weirdos at Ali’s, me hauling stupidly heavy boxes at Coop Extra ‘til my back’s screaming for mercy. Nothing heavy, just real stuff. After the second beer, I’m starting to feel that buzz sneaking in, loosening me up a bit. I notice she’s shifted closer now, her knee brushing against mine under the table. Doesn’t feel like an accident, but I don’t say shit about it. Out of nowhere, she asks, “You live far?” Her voice is low, and she’s staring at her empty bottle, peeling at the label like it’s the most interesting thing. “Nah, just up on Kirkegata. Crappy apartment, but it’s close to stuff. You?” “Not far. Off Mesnavn, near the old mill. Probably an even shittier place than yours.” She flicks her eyes up at me real quick, like she’s sizing me up or something. “Wanna see it?” I blink, caught off guard. “Your place? Uh, yeah, sure, if you’re cool with it.” My heart’s pounding a little faster now, but I keep my face straight. Don’t wanna look like some desperate idiot. She just shrugs, gets up, tosses a few crumpled bills on the table for the beers. “Alright, come on then. It ain’t far.”

The walk to her place takes like ten minutes. The cold air sobers me up a tad, but not enough to start overthinking this whole thing. Her building’s a dump, old brick, graffiti scrawled on the side, busted streetlight out front. She fumbles with her keys at the door, mutters a curse or two under her breath, then leads me up this narrow stairwell that creaks like it’s gonna give out any second. Her apartment’s tiny, messy as hell, smells like cheap incense and dishes that haven’t been touched in days. There’s a futon shoved in the corner, a couple empty pizza boxes on the counter, and a bulb flickering over the sink. It’s lived-in, chaotic, real. “Want another beer or something?” she asks, kicking off her boots by the door. “Nah, I’m good,” I say, shrugging off my jacket. Suddenly I’m way too aware of how close we’re standing in this cramped little space. She nods, doesn’t say a word, just steps closer, her eyes locking on mine. No messing around, no games. I can smell her now, sweat from her shift mixed with some cheap shampoo, nothing fancy, just… human.

Then, bam, she grabs the front of my hoodie, pulls me in, and kisses me hard. No warning, no hesitation, just her lips crashing into mine, rough and desperate. I kiss her back, a little thrown but definitely not complaining. My hands find her waist under that bulky jacket of hers. Her tongue pushes into my mouth, tasting like beer with a faint hint of mint gum, and yeah, I’m already getting hard way too fast. Embarrassing, but whatever. We stumble around, clumsy as hell, her back slamming into the wall by the door with a loud thud. My knee bangs into something, I don’t even know what, and I don’t care. She yanks at my hoodie, pulling it up, her cold-ass hands sliding under my shirt against my skin. I flinch. “Fuck, your hands are freezing,” I mutter into her mouth, and she just lets out this short, sharp laugh, not stopping for a second. I shove her jacket off her shoulders, let it hit the floor, my fingers fumbling with the hem of her sweater as I drag it up. Pale skin, plain black bra that’s seen better days, she doesn’t seem to care, just tugs at my belt. The metal clinks loud in the quiet room as she gets it undone. My jeans drop with a heavy thud, belt buckle rattling, and she pushes me back toward the futon, not gentle at all.

I sit down hard, almost miss the damn edge, and she climbs on top, straddling me. Her thighs press against mine through her tight jeans. I can feel the heat of her through the fabric, and my hands grip her hips, probably too tight, but she doesn’t even flinch. She grinds down on me, slow at first, then harder, and I groan. My dick’s straining against my boxers, the friction already almost too much. Pathetic, I know. “Fuck, slow down or I’m gonna lose it,” I say, half-laughing, half-serious, my voice all rough. She smirks, doesn’t let up, just leans down and bites at my neck, her teeth sharp enough to sting a little. My hands slide up her back, unhooking her bra with shaky fingers. The straps slip off, and I palm her tits, small, firm, nipples hard under my thumbs. She hisses, arches into it, and I flip us over, awkward as shit. Her legs tangle with mine as I pin her under me on this lumpy futon. I yank at her jeans, the button’s stiff, the zipper catches halfway, and she curses, helping me shove them down along with her underwear, some faded gray thing that doesn’t match. Doesn’t matter one bit. Her pussy’s right there, dark hair trimmed short, already wet when I slide a hand between her thighs. My fingers are clumsy, but I find her clit fast. She gasps, hips jerking, and I rub harder, watching her face twist. It’s not pretty or fake, just pure, raw need.

Man, I was so hard it hurt, leaking into my boxers, and I just yanked them down with one hand, kicking them off to who-knows-where. Didn’t even think to ask about a condom, didn’t cross my mind, and honestly, she didn’t mention it either. Dumb as hell, I know, but in the moment, neither of us gave a damn. I got myself lined up, the tip of me brushing against her, all slick and warm, and I pushed in slow, feeling her open up around me, tight as anything. She let out this grunt, not some fake porn moan, just a real, raw sound, her nails digging into my shoulders as I went all the way in, pressed right up against her. I had to pause for a sec, breathing like I’d run a mile, trying not to lose it right then and there like some kid. Her smell, her skin, that faint, heavy scent of sex, it hit me hard. She squirmed a little under me, like she couldn’t wait, wrapping her legs around my waist and pulling me in deeper. “Move, damn it,” she muttered, her voice all rough, and I did, pulling out a bit and thrusting back in, kinda messy at first, the futon squeaking like crazy under us. Her hands slid down to my ass, grabbing, pushing me to go faster, so I sped up, the wet slap of skin on skin loud in the room, my breath all uneven in my ears. The way she felt around me, hot and slick, clenching tight, I knew I wasn’t gonna hold out long, especially with those little sounds she was making, half-grunts, half-whines, her head tipped back against the beat-up futon cushion.

I kept going, hips slamming into hers, no real rhythm, just this desperate, gotta-have-it drive. The futon was creaking like it might give out, the metal frame banging against the wall, and I could feel sweat beading on my forehead, trickling down my back under my shirt, I didn’t even bother taking it off. Marit’s legs locked tighter around me, her heels digging into my ass, urging me harder, deeper, like she couldn’t get enough. She was so damn tight, gripping me every time I pulled back, the heat of her making my head spin. I could feel every bit of her, all slick and messy, the way her insides fluttered when I hit just the right angle, making her gasp sharp and loud. “Fuck, right there,” she hissed, teeth clenched, her nails scraping down my back, probably leaving marks I’d regret later. Didn’t care. I shifted my hips, trying to hit that spot again, sliding in and out, the friction building this tight knot in my gut. I was close, way too close, my balls aching, but I didn’t wanna stop.

Her tits were bouncing with every thrust, small and pale, nipples hard, and I ducked down, sucking one into my mouth, tasting the salt on her skin. She moaned, a deep, real sound, her hand yanking at my hair, hard enough to sting. I let go with a wet pop, breathing hot against her chest, and propped myself on one arm so I could get a hand between us. My fingers found her clit, all swollen and slick, and I rubbed it in rough circles, no real skill, just going on instinct. Her hips jerked up, meeting me thrust for thrust, her breathing turning into these quick, ragged pants that told me she was close too. “Don’t fuckin’ stop,” she growled, voice cracking a little, and I didn’t, even though my arm was shaking from holding myself up, my thighs burning like hell. Then she clenched around me, hard and sudden, and came with this choked cry, her whole body shuddering under me, legs trembling as she rode it out. That feeling, her squeezing me, all hot and pulsing, it pushed me right over. I groaned, rough and low, my vision blurring as I thrust a few more times, messy and desperate, before I came hard, spilling into her. It felt like it lasted forever, each wave draining me, mixing with her heat, all raw and sloppy.

I collapsed on top of her, probably squashing her, but she didn’t shove me off right away, just lay there panting, her chest heaving against mine. I could feel the sticky mess between us, everything leaking out as I softened inside her, still half-hard from the aftershocks. The smell wasn’t sexy or anything, just real, bodies and fluids, mixed with the stale incense and leftover pizza stink of her place. My shirt was soaked with sweat, sticking to my back, and her hair was plastered to her forehead, all damp and messy. After a minute, I rolled off her, awkward as hell, slipping out with a wet sound, and flopped onto my back on the futon, staring at the cracked ceiling, trying to get my breath back. She didn’t say a word, just lay there next to me, one arm thrown over her eyes, legs still sprawled, her jeans and underwear tangled around one ankle. I glanced over, not sure what to do now. My dick felt sticky, cooling off in the air, and I kinda wanted to wipe it down, but I didn’t move, just let the silence hang there.

Finally, she dropped her arm, stared at the ceiling too, and let out this short, dry laugh. “Well, that happened,” she said, voice flat, no softness or anything, just laying it out there. “Yeah,” I mumbled, scratching at my beard, feeling the ache in my back from the crappy futon springs. “Guess it did.” Didn’t really know what else to say. Didn’t feel like I had to. My jeans were somewhere on the floor, and I thought about grabbing them, but couldn’t be assed yet. The room felt… heavy, I guess, but not tense, just empty. Like, two people who just fucked and now gotta figure out what’s next, if there even is a next. She sat up after a bit, wincing as she moved, probably sore as hell.

I saw this red mark on her hip, right where I’d grabbed her too hard, and honestly, it kinda gnawed at me a little, like a dull pang of guilt. But she didn’t seem to give a damn. Just yanked her underwear and jeans back up with these quick, sharp tugs. “I gotta be up early,” she said, not even glancing my way, her voice flat as hell. “Double shift at Ali’s. Stay if you want, or get out. I don’t care.” I nodded, even though she wasn’t looking. “Yeah, probably gonna head out. Got work too, early stock shift at Coop.” Not a total lie, but let’s be real, it was mostly an easy out to dodge whatever awkward crap might come from sticking around. I sat up, my back groaning like an old man, and fumbled around for my boxers and jeans, dragging them on without any kinda grace. My belt buckle made this loud clink as I hooked it, cutting through the dead quiet of the room. She was already on her feet, pulling her sweater over her head, her bra still lying somewhere on the floor. Didn’t even bother picking it up, just crossed her arms and leaned against the counter by the sink, staring at me getting dressed with this empty look. “Alright,” I mumbled, zipping up my hoodie, feeling the chilly draft from the window hit my still-sweaty skin. “Guess I’ll catch ya around. Maybe at Ali’s or somethin’.” I didn’t really mean it, just threw it out there to fill the silence. My voice came out all rough and tired, and I bet I looked like absolute garbage, hair a mess, shirt all wrinkled. She just shrugged, one shoulder barely moving, like it didn’t matter one bit. “Yeah, maybe. Lock the door if I’m in the bathroom when you go.” Then she turned and vanished into what I figured was a tiny bathroom off the hall, the door clicking shut. No goodbye, no last glance, just… gone.

I stood there for a sec, feeling kinda stupid, then snatched my jacket off the floor and slung it over my shoulder. The stairwell creaked under my weight as I trudged down, and the cold air outside slammed into me like a punch when I hit the street off Mesnavn. Had to be past 1 a.m. now, Lillehammer quiet as a graveyard, except for the faint hum of some car way off by Elvegata. My breath came out in little clouds in the freezing air, and I shoved my hands deep in my pockets, starting the slog back to Kirkegata. My legs felt like lead, and, uh, yeah, my junk was still kinda sticky under my jeans, a dull ache down there reminding me how intense we’d gone at it. Didn’t really think about her much on the walk, not in any big, meaningful way. Just random flashes, her body under me, the noises she made, the way she didn’t try to make it into something it wasn’t.

When I finally got to my building, I fumbled with my keys like an idiot, the lock sticking like it always does, and shoved my way into my dark apartment. The stale smell of old coffee hit me right away, familiar but kinda nasty. Didn’t even bother with the lights, just kicked my boots off by the door and shuffled over to the couch, collapsing on it with a groan. My phone buzzed in my pocket, probably Lars texting late, asking if I’m down for a beer tomorrow, but I couldn’t be bothered. Instead, I just stared at the dark window, the faint glow of a streetlight sneaking in, and noticed this crumpled receipt from Ali’s Kebab poking out of my jacket pocket on the floor. I snorted, shook my head, and muttered under my breath, “Guess I’ll be eatin’ falafel for a while.”