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 standing there in the Spar on Storgata in Lillehammer, halfway through a lousy microwaved burrito that tastes like cardboard. It’s a Tuesday evening, dreary as hell outside, all gray and damp. The kind of weather that makes you wanna hole up inside and watch some mindless crap on TV. But nah, I’m out of smokes, and I’m too broke to even think about ordering delivery. So here I am, by the counter, munching on this sad burrito, when she walks in. Black hoodie, ripped jeans, hair all messy like she just crawled out of bed. She doesn’t look like she fits in this tiny little town, but honestly, neither do I. Been here six months for a dead-end warehouse job, and I still feel like an alien. Found out later her name’s Ingrid. Pretty standard Norwegian name, nothing flashy. Guessing she’s in her late 20s, same as me, with this sharp jaw and pale gray eyes that just don’t seem to care about a damn thing. I catch her glancing over while she grabs a Red Bull from the fridge. I don’t know, maybe it’s the boredom, or the fact I haven’t gotten any action in forever, but I get this weird vibe. Not love or any of that nonsense, just pure, raw curiosity, you know? I’m no catch, let’s be real. Just some average guy, scruffy beard, probably reeking of warehouse sweat after a ten-hour shift. But the way she looks at me, like she’s sizing me up, it sticks with me. I don’t say a word at first. Just finish my burrito, wipe the grease on my jeans, and pretend to scroll through my phone like I’ve got something important going on.

Lillehammer’s not exactly popping with excitement. Most folks here are either old-timers or tourists just passing through for the ski stuff up at Hafjell. Storgata, the main street, is a ghost town after 8 p.m. Maybe a couple of drunks staggering out of Bar 1904, or some teens messing around by the fountain near Mesnaelva, but that’s it. So when Ingrid comes up to the counter right next to me to pay, it stands out. Like, there’s plenty of space, why stand so close? Then, out of the blue, she says, “You’re not from here.” Her voice is low, a bit raspy, and her English is solid, though you can hear that Norwegian accent sneaking through. Guess my cheap jacket and worn-out sneakers scream “outsider.” I shove my hands in my pockets and mutter, “Nah, moved here for work. From the UK. Probably a dumb move.” She gives this tiny smirk, barely a lift of her lip, and nods like she gets it. “This place sucks if you’re not rich or sixty,” she says. She pays for her drink, pops it open right there, and takes a big swig. I watch her throat as she swallows, yeah, not proud of staring, but screw it, I’m bored, and she’s… interesting. “I’m Ingrid,” she says after a moment, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “You got a name, or you just gonna stand there looking like a lost puppy?” “Tom,” I say. Plain, boring, whatever. “You live around here?” “Born and raised, sadly.” She leans on the counter, one hip jutted out, not flirty or anything, just relaxed. “Got a flat over by Kirkegata, near the old church. You?” “Renting a dump near the train station. Smells like mold, but it’s cheap.” I shrug. No point pretending I’ve got my shit together. She doesn’t seem like she’d care anyway.

We just stand there for a bit, not saying much, just kinda… existing in the same space. The Spar clerk, some guy with a terrible mustache, keeps shooting us looks like he wants us to get the hell out. Outside, the streetlights are starting to flicker on, and I can hear the faint hum of a car rolling by on Elvegata. I should’ve just grabbed my smokes and headed home, but something keeps me planted there. Maybe it’s how Ingrid doesn’t seem in a hurry to leave either, like she’s just as bored and aimless as I am. Finally, I break the silence. “You smoke?” I ask, figuring it’s a safe way to keep the convo going. “Sometimes. If someone’s offering,” she says, raising an eyebrow. I get the hint, buy a pack of Prince from the counter, and we step outside into the cold. The air stings my face, so I zip up my jacket while handing her a cigarette. We light up under the awning, watching the drizzle make the pavement all shiny. The smell of tobacco mixes with the damp air, and it’s kinda calming, I guess.

“So, what do you do when you’re not grabbing energy drinks at 9 p.m.?” I ask, blowing smoke out my nose. Not trying to be slick or anything, just filling the quiet. She snorts. “Work at the Kiwi down by Sigrid Undsets veg. Cashier. Real exciting stuff. You?” “Warehouse. Picking boxes, moving boxes, hating every damn box. Barely pays the bills.” I take another drag. “This town got anything worth doing? I’ve been here six months, and I’m already losing it.” Ingrid tilts her head, thinking for a sec. “Not much. There’s a dive bar off Langes gate called Hjørnet. Cheap beer, awful music, sometimes a fight if the loggers get too drunk. That’s about as wild as it gets here.” “Sounds like my kinda spot,” I say, half-kidding. Didn’t think she’d bite, but she flicks her cigarette butt into the gutter and looks right at me. “Wanna go? I’m off tomorrow, got nothing better to do.” Her tone’s flat, like she doesn’t care either way, but her eyes have this spark. Not flirty, not quite, just… daring me to keep up. I hesitate for a second. Got work in the morning, and I’m not exactly Mr. Social. Plus, I don’t know this girl at all, could be a total nutcase for all I know. But then I’m like, screw it, what’s the worst that could happen? Get a drink with a stranger, maybe have a laugh, head home. So yeah, I’m in.

Honestly, worst case, I’m just out a few hundred kroner and maybe a couple hours of shut-eye. “Yeah, fine,” I muttered, grinding out my cigarette under my boot. “Show me the way.” We started down Storgata, passing by all the shuttered shops and that little bakery that always smells like cinnamon first thing in the morning. Neither of us said much. It wasn’t weird or anything, just… quiet. Two people trudging along, our steps kinda echoing on the damp sidewalk. Lillehammer at night, man, it feels like a damn ghost town sometimes. All these old wooden buildings and narrow little streets, it’s like you’ve stumbled into the past, a hundred years back or something. I glanced up and caught the outline of the mountains way off, dark against the gray sky. Hit me hard how far I am from anything I know. But right then, with Ingrid a step ahead, hands jammed in her hoodie pockets, I didn’t care as much as I thought I would.

Hjørnet wasn’t too far, just a quick ten-minute walk, squeezed between some hardware store and what looked like an office building on Langes gate. The sign out front was all faded, neon flickering like it’s on its last legs, and I could hear the muffled thump of bass leaking out. Ingrid didn’t wait for me, just shoved the door open, and the stink of stale beer and sweat slammed into me. Place wasn’t crowded or anything, just a few dudes at the bar and a couple messing around at the pool table in the corner. Some old rock tune I couldn’t place was blaring from a jukebox that looked older than I am. She made a beeline for the bar, and I tagged along, feeling a bit out of my element but not enough to bail. The bartender, this grizzled old guy with a beard down to his chest, gave Ingrid a nod like they’re old pals. She ordered two beers without even checking what I wanted, slid one over to me on the sticky counter. “Skål,” she said, clinking her bottle against mine with that smirk of hers creeping back. I felt that itch again, sharper now. Not just curiosity anymore, but something deeper, something I hadn’t felt in a hot minute. No clue where this was headed, if anywhere, but damn if I didn’t wanna find out.

We drank, propped up against the bar, scoping out the room without much to say. The beer was cheap as hell, tasted like straight piss, but it got the job done. Every so often, I’d catch her glancing at me, not obvious, just quick little looks. No idea what was going through her head, and I wasn’t about to ask. But something was shifting between us, the air getting kinda tight, like we both knew something was brewing. Just couldn’t pin down what. Not yet. I took another swig of that awful beer, the cold fizz stinging my throat. Ingrid was leaning on her elbow, hoodie sleeve pushed up a little, showing off a faded tattoo of some bird on her forearm. Didn’t ask about it. Small talk didn’t feel right. The bar was getting rowdier, some guy in a flannel yelling over the pool table about a crap shot, and the jukebox flipped to something heavier, Metallica, maybe, I dunno. I wasn’t really listening to anything but her. Those gray eyes kept darting to me, then away, like she was sizing me up or testing something.

“You come here a lot?” I tossed out, just to break the silence. My voice sounded rougher than I meant, probably from the beer and the smokes earlier. “When I’m bored,” she shrugged. “Which is, like, most of the time in this dump of a town.” She tipped her bottle back, chugged the last bit, and slammed it down on the counter. Her fingers tapped the glass, restless as hell. “You don’t talk much, do you?” “Not unless I’ve got something worth saying.” I polished off my own beer, feeling a little buzz now, not wasted, just… looser. “You don’t seem like a big talker either.” She let out a quick snort, almost a laugh. “Fair enough.” Then she straightened up, rolled her shoulders like she was shaking off a weight. “Wanna get outta here? It’s getting loud, and I’m not in the mood for drunk idiots tonight.” I didn’t even think twice. “Yeah, sure. Where we going?” “My place isn’t far. Got some cheap vodka if you’re game.” She didn’t wait for me to answer, just started heading for the door, pulling her hoodie tight around her. I followed, the cold air outside smacking me in the face after the stuffy bar.

Langes gate was dead empty now, just the buzz of a streetlight and the faint drip of water from some gutter nearby. We walked fast, not talking, cutting through a side alley past the old post office building toward Kirkegata. The streets were slick with leftover rain, and I damn near slipped on some wet cobblestone, muttering a curse under my breath. Her flat was in one of those older buildings near St. Olav’s Church, the kind with creaky wooden stairs and paint peeling off the walls. She unlocked the door on the second floor, and I stepped in behind her, catching a whiff of old coffee and damp laundry. It wasn’t a mess, just… lived-in. Couch with a blanket tossed over it, small TV on a stand, a few empty energy drink cans cluttering the counter in the tiny kitchenette. She kicked off her boots by the door, so I did the same, feeling a bit awkward standing there in my socks on her beat-up floor.

“Vodka’s in the freezer,” she said, heading to the kitchen. “Don’t expect fancy glasses or any of that crap.” She came back with a half-empty bottle of Smirnoff and two random mugs, handing one over to me. We plopped down on the couch, close but not touching, and poured ourselves some shots. The vodka burned way worse than the beer, cheap and rough, but it warmed me up fast. We drank without saying much, just the faint hum of traffic outside on Elvegata cutting through the quiet. I don’t even know how it started, to be honest. One second we’re just sitting there, sipping shitty vodka, and the next she’s inching closer, her knee brushing against mine.

I didn’t pull back, and she didn’t either. I caught her gaze, those gray eyes just… pinned on me, not darting away like before. No fake smile, no flirty nonsense, just this straight-up, intense look that hit me right in the gut. Not bad, just… heavy, ya know? Like we both knew where this was headed and weren’t about to play dumb. “Screw it,” she mumbled, almost like she was talking to herself, and then she leaned in. Her lips crashed into mine, no messing around, no slow tease. It wasn’t polished or anything, her teeth kinda knocked against mine for a split second, and I could taste the vodka on her breath, sharp and kinda bitter. Without thinking, my hand went to her neck, fingers getting all tangled in her messy hair, pulling her closer. She didn’t resist, just kissed me harder, her tongue pushing into my mouth, all wet and sloppy.

My heart was pounding like crazy, not from being nervous or anything, just straight-up adrenaline. Like I’d been waiting for this all night without even realizing it. Her hands pressed against my chest, shoving at my jacket, so I shrugged it off fast, letting it drop to the floor with a thud. She tugged her hoodie over her head, chucking it somewhere, leaving her in just a plain black tank top, no bra or anything under it. I could see her nipples through the thin fabric, hard, maybe from the cold, maybe something else. Didn’t stop to overthink it, just pulled her back to me, my hands sliding under her shirt, feeling how warm her skin was. She was lean, a little bony around the ribs, but tough, like she could handle herself. My thumbs brushed over her nipples, and she let out this low noise in her throat, not a moan, more like a grunt, like she was caught off guard but didn’t want me to stop.

We shifted on the couch, clumsy as hell, trying to figure out a better position. I ended up half on top of her, one knee wedged between her legs, her back jammed against the armrest. Her jeans were still on, mine too, but I could feel the heat through the denim, and it was driving me absolutely nuts. I ground against her a little, not even thinking, just moving, and she pushed back, her hips rolling up to meet me. I was already hard, my dick straining against my zipper, and I knew she could tell. She didn’t say a word, just grabbed the back of my neck and yanked me down for another kiss, her other hand messing with my belt. I fumbled with the buckle, hands kinda shaky, not from nerves, just from how bad I wanted this. She popped the button on my jeans and shoved them down just enough, boxers too, letting me spring free. It hit my stomach, already a little wet at the tip, and I felt this quick flash of awkwardness for like half a second before she grabbed me. Her grip was solid, no playing around, just straight to it, stroking me hard and fast. I groaned, couldn’t help it, the friction was almost too much right off the bat. Her hand was a bit dry, kinda rough, but I didn’t care. I could smell her now, not some fake perfume or whatever, just her skin, a little salty, a little like the tobacco from earlier.

“Condom?” I managed to grunt out, my brain barely functioning. I didn’t have one on me, hadn’t even thought that far ahead. She shook her head, still stroking me, her thumb brushing over the tip, spreading the precum around. “Don’t have any. You clean?” “Yeah. You?” My voice was a mess, barely even words. “Yeah. Screw it, I’m on the pill.” She let go of me just long enough to shove her own jeans down, kicking them off with her underwear. I caught a quick glimpse before she pulled me back down, dark hair down there, neat but not overdone, already slick, lips parted a bit. I didn’t stare, didn’t have the chance, ‘cause she was grabbing my hips, pulling me in close, lining me up. I pushed in slow at first, not wanting to hurt her or anything, but she wasn’t having that. She hooked a leg around my waist and yanked me forward, hard, so I slid in deep all at once. She was tight, hot, so damn wet, and I bit my lip to keep from making some stupid sound. It wasn’t perfect, our angle was weird, the couch was too narrow, my knee kept slipping on the cushion, but none of that mattered. She hissed through her teeth, shifting a bit, her nails digging into my shoulder through my shirt.

I pulled back a little, then thrust in again, harder this time, feeling her tighten around me. “Fuck, yeah,” she muttered, her voice all low and rough, head tipped back against the armrest. Her tank top was still on, shoved up to her collarbone, and I could see her tits bouncing a bit with each movement. I leaned down, sucking one nipple into my mouth through the fabric, tasting cotton and a hint of salt, while my hand gripped her hip, trying to keep some kind of rhythm going. She arched into it, her breath catching, one hand in my hair, pulling hard enough to sting a little. We were a total mess, already sweaty, the couch creaking under us, the air heavy with the smell of us, skin, musk, a bit of vodka still lingering on our breath. I could feel myself getting close way too fast, the heat of her driving me up the wall, but I didn’t wanna stop, didn’t wanna slow down even a bit. Her legs tightened around me, pushing me deeper, and I knew we weren’t anywhere near done. I kept thrusting, harder now, the couch groaning like it might collapse any second. My shirt was sticking to my back, sweat dripping down my neck, and her tank top was half-soaked too, clinging to her chest.

Her nipple was still in my mouth, the fabric kinda scratchy on my tongue, but I didn’t give a damn. I bit down just a little, not enough to hurt her, just enough to get a gasp outta her, her fingers digging into my hair. “Harder,” she growled, her voice rough and kinda pissed, like she couldn’t wait, and hell, I didn’t need to be told twice. I slammed into her, feeling her grip me tight, all slick and hot, every thrust pulling a grunt from my throat. Her legs were wrapped around my waist, heels jabbing into my ass, forcing me deeper. The angle sucked, honestly, my knee kept slipping off the damn couch every few pushes, but we made it work somehow. I braced a hand on the armrest above her head, the wood all sweaty under my palm, and used it to go faster. Her hips jerked up to meet me, sometimes sloppy, not always in rhythm, but that just made it messier, more real, you know? I could hear the wet smack of skin on skin, loud as hell in the quiet of her place, mixing with our heavy breaths and the random curse she’d mutter under her breath. “Fuck, I’m close,” I rasped, my voice cracking a bit. My balls were tight, that pressure building quick at the base of my dick, and I knew I wasn’t gonna hold out much longer. She just nodded, eyes half-closed, mouth open as she panted. Her hand slipped down between us, fingers working her clit in fast little circles while I kept pounding away. I could feel her getting tighter, squeezing harder around me, and it was almost too damn much. Her other hand stayed on my shoulder, nails digging into my skin through my shirt, probably leaving marks I’d notice tomorrow. She came first, sharp and sudden, her whole body locking up under me. No over-the-top moans or fake porn shit, just a choked sound in her throat, hips twitching unevenly as she rode it out. Her fingers slowed down on her clit but didn’t stop, and I could feel her pulsing around me, dragging me right to the edge. I tried to hold back, gritting my teeth and all, but nah, no chance. “Gonna, ” I started to say, but she just nodded quick, legs clamping tighter like she wasn’t letting me pull out. I came hard, spilling into her, each wave hitting me like a damn punch. My thrusts got all sloppy, uneven, as I emptied out, the heat of it mixing with hers. I groaned, low and rough, dropping my forehead to her shoulder for a second to catch my breath. My dick twitched a couple more times inside her, already too sensitive, and I could feel the mess we’d made, all slick and sticky between us. Her legs finally eased up a bit, letting me pull back some, but I didn’t slide out right away. Just stayed there, half-collapsed on top of her, the couch cushion jabbing into my knee. After maybe a minute, I slid out slow, wincing at the drag. My cum and her wetness leaked out with me, dripping down her thigh onto the couch, glistening a little in the faint streetlight coming through the window. Neither of us moved to clean up or anything. She just lay there, chest heaving, tank top still bunched up, hair all sweaty and sticking to her neck. I sat back on my heels, jeans still down around my thighs, my dick soft now and slick against my leg. The air in the room felt heavy, thick with the raw smell of us, sweat, sex, and some other faint tang I couldn’t quite name. “Fuck,” she muttered after a while, sitting up a little, propping herself on her elbows. Her voice was flat, no feeling behind it, just a word. She tugged her tank top down over her chest, not even fixing it right, and glanced at the wet spot on the couch. “Gonna have to flip that cushion later, I guess.” I snorted, not sure if she was serious or messing around. “Yeah, my bad.” My throat felt scratchy, so I cleared it, reaching down to yank my boxers and jeans back up. My hands were still shaky, fumbling with the damn zipper, and I felt kinda stupid just sitting there, not knowing what to say. Not like there was much to talk about anyway, right? She didn’t look at me straight away, just swung her legs off the couch and grabbed her jeans off the floor, sliding them on without bothering with underwear. I caught one last glimpse of her, still flushed and messy down there, before the denim covered it up. She didn’t seem to care about the stickiness, just zipped up and stood, stretching her arms over her head like nothing happened. “You want another shot of vodka or nah?” she asked, already walking toward the little kitchenette, bare feet slapping on the wood floor. “Nah, I’m good,” I said, getting up too, my legs wobbling for a second. I grabbed my jacket from where it’d fallen, shrugging it on, the fabric cold against my damp skin. I wasn’t sure if she was hinting for me to get lost or just being chill, but I figured I’d take the hint. Didn’t feel like sticking around for weird small talk or whatever. “Got work early tomorrow anyway.” “Cool.” She came back with the vodka bottle anyway, taking a swig straight from it, no cup or nothing. Her gray eyes flicked to me for a second, hard to read, then looked away as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Door’s unlocked if you’re heading out.” I nodded, shoving my hands in my pockets. My socks felt weird on the floor without my boots, so I sat back down real quick to pull them on, the laces annoying as hell with my clumsy fingers. She just stood there by the counter, maybe watching me, maybe not, I didn’t look up to check. The whole thing felt… well, I don’t know, just off or something.

Eh, it was alright, I suppose. Nothing special, not terrible either, just… done, you know? Like we got it out of our system and that’s all there was to it. “See ya around, I guess,” I mumbled as I got up, making my way to the door. My voice sounded weird, kinda forced or too laid-back, but whatever, I wasn’t gonna overthink it. “Yeah, maybe. Storgata’s not exactly huge,” she said, not even bothering to walk me out or anything. She just stood there, hip against the counter, taking another swig from her bottle. I pulled the door open, and the cold air from the hallway smacked me right in the face. Didn’t look back, just stepped out. The stairwell stank of old wood and dampness, same as when we came up earlier. I took the creaky steps down two at a time, my boots echoing in the silence, way too loud for this time of night.

Out on Kirkegata, the night was still gray and wet, not a soul around except for some stray cat bolting across the street near the church. I zipped my jacket all the way up to my chin, the cold biting at my cheeks, and started trudging back toward the train station area where my crappy little flat is. My legs felt like lead, like I’d just run a damn marathon instead of… well, you know, messing around on a couch. I could still feel her warmth lingering on me, and the stickiness in my boxers was starting to bug me. Tried not to dwell on it, though. Just kept walking, passing by dark shop windows and the odd streetlight flickering like it was on its last legs.

I stopped at the corner by Elvegata, fumbling in my pocket for the pack of Prince I picked up earlier. Managed to light one with shaky hands, man, the smoke burned my lungs after all that, but it kinda grounded me too, you know? Stood there for a bit, blowing out a long puff into the chilly air, watching it swirl and vanish. Then my phone started buzzing in my pocket, probably that stupid alarm reminder for work in, what, five hours? Didn’t even bother checking it. Just turned the thing off and kept smoking, staring down at the cracked pavement like it had done me wrong or something. Shit, wait a sec, I forgot my lighter on her counter. Oh well, guess I’ll grab a new one at Spar tomorrow. No big deal.