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 this Esso gas station on Hvidovrevej, halfway through a godawful microwaved burrito that tastes like absolute garbage. I’m just passing time, you know, waiting for my beat-up Skoda to get its oil changed at the garage across the street in Hvidovre. It’s this quiet little suburb right outside Copenhagen, Denmark, nothing fancy. I’m scrolling through stupid memes on my phone, not expecting a damn thing from a boring Tuesday afternoon, when she walks in. She’s all wrapped up in a big puffy jacket, scarf covering half her face, and for some reason, I can’t stop looking. Maybe it’s how she’s stomping the snow off her boots like she’s got a personal grudge against the floor. Or maybe I’m just bored out of my mind. Look, I’m no Casanova or anything, okay? I’m just Søren, a 34-year-old electrician who’s been single way too long and probably knocks back too many Tuborgs on the weekends. I’ve got a bit of a beer belly, a beard that’s more “I can’t be bothered” than cool, and my last haircut? Yeah, probably three months ago at some cheap barber on Enghavevej. I’m not winning any prizes for looks, but I’ve got a halfway decent sense of humor and I’m not a total jerk, so I’ve got that going for me, I guess.

Anyway, I’m parked at one of those nasty little tables by the gas station window, watching the slush build up outside, when this woman, she turns out to be Mette, but I don’t know that yet, grabs a coffee from the machine and sits down a couple tables over. Hvidovre isn’t exactly the place for excitement, you know? It’s just a regular working-class spot with boring brick apartment blocks, a few Netto stores, and maybe a kebab joint if you’re lucky. Most folks around here are either old-timers or families with kids screaming their heads off. You don’t expect to see someone who grabs your attention at a freaking gas station. But Mette, she’s got this… vibe. Like she couldn’t care less about anything. Her blonde hair’s a mess, poking out from under a wool hat, and her jacket’s unzipped just enough to show a tight black sweater. I’m not being a creep or anything, but yeah, I noticed. Kinda hard not to. I keep my head down, pretending I’m super into my phone, but I’m sneaking glances. She catches me once, just a quick look, and I feel like a complete idiot. I don’t smile or anything, just look away real fast. Nice one, Søren, real smooth.

I figure that’s the end of it, just another awkward moment to add to my collection, but then she gets up to toss her coffee cup and kinda… hangs around near the trash can by my table. I don’t know if she meant to or what, but she’s close enough that I catch a whiff of her shampoo or something, kinda citrusy, not too strong. Out of nowhere, she goes, “You waiting on a car too?” Her voice is a little rough, like maybe she smokes or just has a cold. Her Danish has that local sound, the kind you hear around here, not the fancy Copenhagen stuff. I’m caught off guard, so I mumble, “Uh, yeah. Skoda’s getting an oil change at Jensen’s. Taking forever.” She nods, shoves her hands into her jacket pockets, and says, “Same. My crappy Peugeot’s been making this weird noise for weeks. Finally got it checked before it totally craps out on me.” I let out a little laugh, mostly ‘cause I don’t know what else to say. “Yeah, cars are a pain in the ass. Always something breaking.” She doesn’t really laugh, just gives this small smirk and leans against the wall by the window. Up close, I can tell she’s probably around my age, maybe a bit younger. Her eyes are this pale blue, kinda stand out against the dreary gray day outside. I’m not gonna lie, my brain’s already going places it shouldn’t, but I try to play it cool. Or at least not look like a total moron.

“I’m Mette, by the way,” she says after a moment, like she’s not sure if I’d even care. “Søren,” I shoot back, wiping some burrito grease off my hand before I even think about shaking hers. I don’t, though, she just nods, super casual, no fuss. We don’t say much after that, just sit there in this weird quiet, both of us pretending to mess with our phones. But I feel it, you know? That dumb tension, like when you’re a kid trying to figure out if someone’s actually talking to you or just being nice. I keep thinking I should say something, anything, but every idea sounds stupid in my head. “Hey, wanna grab a beer in Vesterbro when our cars are done?” Nah, way too pushy. “You come here often?” God, no, I’m not that guy. So I just sit there like an idiot, watching the snow fall outside and the odd truck roll into the Esso lot.

Then her phone buzzes, and she picks it up, muttering something I can’t hear. She looks annoyed, rolls her eyes while typing a quick reply. When she sets the phone down, she glances at me again, and this time there’s… I don’t know, something different in her look. Not flirty or anything, but like she’s trying to figure me out. My dumbass brain jumps to conclusions, but I tell myself to calm the hell down. She’s probably just as bored as I am. “You live around here?” she asks, breaking the silence again. Her tone’s flat, like she doesn’t really care either way, but she’s still looking at me. “Yeah, over by Tårnvej,” I say, pointing out the window like an idiot even though you can’t see it from here. “Been there a few years. You?” “Close. Off Gammel Køge Landevej. Shitty apartment, but it’s cheap,” she says with a shrug, then adds, “Not much to do around here, huh?” I snort. “Nope. Unless you count getting drunk at Den Blå Hund on Fridays as a good time.” That gets a tiny laugh from her, just a quick huff, but hey, it’s something.

So, there’s this dive bar, Den Blå Hund, just a couple streets down from where I usually hang. It’s the kinda spot where the beer’s dirt cheap, and most of the regulars are pushing 50 or older. I’ve probably wasted way too many nights there, just chatting with whoever’s around, you know? Never thought she’d know the place, though. I mean, I had to ask, right? “You go there a lot?” I said, trying to keep the conversation rolling without sounding like some desperate creep. She shrugged, messing with the zipper on her jacket. “Sometimes. Usually when I’ve got nothing better to do. Beats sitting at home by myself, I guess.” I just nodded, not really knowing what to say next. My brain was going a mile a minute, though. Was she dropping a hint or something? Or am I just overthinking it ‘cause, well, I’m a lonely dumbass who hasn’t had any action in forever? I didn’t wanna push too hard, but I also didn’t wanna let the moment slip away. Truth is, I suck at this kinda thing. Always have. Back in school, I was the guy who’d choke every time I even thought about asking a girl out. Honestly, I’m still kinda that guy. Before I could figure out my next move, her phone buzzed again, and she let out this big, obvious sigh. “Garage says my car’s finally done,” she said. “Nice,” I mumbled, though I was actually pretty bummed. Figured that was it. She’d grab her keys, head out, and I’d never see her again. Just another random run-in at a crappy gas station. But then she got up, tossed her scarf over her shoulder, and gave me one last look. “Hey, if you’re ever at Den Blå Hund, maybe I’ll catch you there. I’m usually around on Thursdays.” I just blinked, totally caught off guard. Was that, like, an invite? Or just a polite way to dip out? I couldn’t tell, but my stupid heart was already racing a bit. “Yeah, sure,” I said, trying to play it cool. “Maybe I’ll stop by.” She gave a quick nod, then turned and walked out, the little bell on the door jingling as she left. I watched her through the window, crossing the lot toward Jensen’s Garage, her boots crunching in the slushy snow. My burrito was cold by then, but I didn’t even care. I just sat there, replaying the whole thing in my head, wondering if I’d made up that last part. Thursdays at Den Blå Hund, was that real, or just something people say to be nice? My phone buzzed with a text from the garage saying my car was ready too, but I didn’t get up right away. I was still stuck on her, on that rough, raspy voice and the way she looked at me. I had no clue if anything would come of it, but I knew I’d be at that bar on Thursday, even if it meant sitting there like an idiot by myself. Something about her just… stuck, you know? I wasn’t ready to let it go just yet.

The next couple of days, I couldn’t stop overthinking that gas station moment with Mette. Kept hearing her say she’d be at Den Blå Hund on Thursdays, trying to figure out if it was just casual chit-chat or if she actually meant it. I’m not the type to get my hopes up real easy, but damn, I couldn’t get her outta my head. That raspy voice, the way she seemed like she didn’t care about a damn thing, it was probably dumb, but by the time Thursday came around, I was already planning my night. Got off work at the usual time, around five, after a long, miserable day fixing some messed-up wiring in a warehouse out by Amager. I was sweaty, smelled like metal and dirt, and my hands were still grimy even after scrubbing them raw at the sink. Didn’t have time to swing home and change, so I just threw on a sorta-clean flannel over my work shirt and headed straight to the bar. Den Blå Hund isn’t exactly the kinda place you dress up for, anyway. It’s this grungy little joint on Hvidovrevej, with sticky floors, chipped-up wooden tables, and a flickering neon Tuborg sign in the window. Smells like old beer and cigarette smoke, even though smoking inside’s been banned for ages. There’s a jukebox in the corner, but it’s been busted for years, and nobody gives enough of a crap to fix it. I rolled in around seven, thinking that’d be early enough to not look like I’m trying too hard, but late enough to seem chill. The place was half-empty, just a handful of regulars sipping their pints and grumbling to each other. I snagged a seat at the bar, ordered a Tuborg Classic from old Jens behind the counter, and tried not to stare at the door every five seconds. Didn’t wanna be that creepy dude, you know? But I was nervous as hell, even if I didn’t wanna admit it to myself. What if she didn’t show up? What if she did, and it was just weird and awkward? I took a big gulp of my beer, feeling the cold fizz hit my throat, and told myself to calm the hell down. By eight, I was on my second beer and starting to think I was a total moron for even showing up. Then the door creaked open, that rusty hinge always squeaks like crazy, and there she was. Mette. Same puffy jacket, scarf hanging loose around her neck, blonde hair still a mess under that wool hat. She glanced around for a second, and when she spotted me, she gave a little nod, like she wasn’t surprised I was there. My stomach did this weird flip, but I played it cool, just lifted my glass a tiny bit her way. “Hey,” she said, sliding onto the stool next to me. Up close, I caught that citrusy smell again, mixed with something sharper, maybe smoke on her jacket. “Didn’t think you’d actually come.” “Didn’t think you would either,” I fired back, managing a little smirk. My voice sounded steadier than I felt, which was a small victory. She ordered a beer, same as mine, a Tuborg, and we started talking. Nothing serious, just random stuff, the weather, how much Hvidovre winters suck, and how Jensen’s Garage always rips you off for the dumbest things.

Man, it was way easier than I thought it’d be, even with those awkward pauses where I just blanked on what to say next. She didn’t seem to care, though. Just sat there sipping her beer, staring at me with those pale blue eyes, like she was trying to piece me together or something. I’m not gonna lie, my brain started wandering to stupid, horny places again, even though I tried to shove those thoughts down. But the way she was sitting, kinda leaning in toward me with her elbow propped on the bar, made it damn near impossible to just chat like normal. After her second beer, she loosened up a bit, laughing more at my lame-ass jokes about work and that dumb story of me shocking myself while fixing a light. I was on my third by then, feeling that nice little buzz, and the bar was getting rowdier with people trickling in. Some old rock tune was blasting through the crappy speakers, and the air was thick with chatter and the stink of spilled beer. I caught myself staring at her mouth while she talked, watching her lips move, and I’m pretty sure she caught me ‘cause she stopped mid-sentence once and just looked at me, eyebrows up. “What?” she asked, not mad or anything, just curious. “Nothing,” I shot back, way too fast, and took a big gulp of my beer to play it off. Real smooth, Søren, real smooth. But she didn’t drop it, just kept staring, and then she smirked, like she knew exactly what was going through my head. “You’re not subtle, you know that?” she said, her voice low, almost lost in the noise around us. I just shrugged, feeling my face get a little hot. “Never said I was.” That got a real laugh out of her, a good one, and she leaned in closer, her knee brushing mine under the bar. I don’t know if she meant to do that, but damn, it sent a jolt through me. My brain was yelling at me to say something, do something, but I just sat there like an idiot for a second. Then she finished her beer, slammed the glass down, and looked me dead in the eye. “Wanna get outta here?” she asked, straight-up, no messing around. Her eyes were locked on mine, and I swear my heart skipped a beat. “Uh, yeah,” I mumbled, tripping over the word. “Where to?” “My place isn’t far. Off Gammel Køge Landevej, like I told you. Unless you’ve got a better spot.” She was already on her feet, zipping up her jacket, like it was a done deal. “Nah, that’s fine,” I said, tossing some cash on the bar for Jens and trailing after her. The cold air smacked me in the face as we stepped outside, snow crunching under my boots, but I hardly noticed. My head was spinning, and not just from the beer. Was this really happening? I didn’t wanna overthink it, didn’t wanna screw it up, so I just kept my mouth shut as we walked the few blocks to her place. The streets were dead quiet, just the odd car sloshing through the slush, and the orange glow of streetlights hitting the brick apartment blocks. Her building was one of those old, no-fuss ones, gray and kinda falling apart at the edges. We climbed three flights of creaky stairs, her ahead of me, and yeah, I tried not to stare at her ass in those tight jeans, but come on, I did. She unlocked her door, flipped on a dim hallway light, and kicked off her boots without saying much. Her place was tiny, messy, with a sagging couch and a coffee table piled with empty mugs and some half-dead plant. It smelled like stale air and something faintly sweet, maybe old incense or whatever. She didn’t bother with chit-chat, just shrugged off her jacket and looked at me, arms crossed. “So,” she said, and that was it. Just that one word, and I knew. I stepped closer, probably too quick, and she didn’t back away. Next thing I knew, my hands were on her hips, pulling her in, and we were kissing. It wasn’t soft or sweet or any of that nonsense, just hungry, messy, her lips rough against mine, tasting like beer and a hint of mint gum. Her hands were on my neck, then my chest, shoving at my flannel like she couldn’t get it off fast enough. I fumbled with her sweater, yanking it up, and she pulled back just long enough to tug it over her head. Her bra was nothing special, just plain black, but seeing her like that, pale skin and sharp collarbones, got me hard in like two seconds flat. I’m not some jacked guy, got a bit of a gut and chest hair I don’t bother shaving, but she didn’t seem to give a damn, just kept pulling at my shirt ‘til I got it off. My hands were everywhere, feeling the heat of her skin, the curve of her waist, and she was breathing heavy, pressing into me. We stumbled toward the couch, not even trying for a bedroom, and I pushed her down onto it, a little harder than I meant to. She didn’t care, just pulled me on top of her, legs wrapping around my waist. My jeans were still on, digging into me, and I could feel myself straining against the zipper as I ground against her. She moaned, low and rough, her nails digging into my back, and I fumbled with her jeans, popping the button and yanking them down just enough to see her panties, dark blue and already damp. I didn’t stop to think, just slid my hand down, feeling the heat through the fabric, rubbing her clit with my thumb while she arched under me. “Fuck,” she hissed, hips jerking up, and I pushed the panties aside, fingers slipping against her, wet and slick. She was mostly shaved, just a little strip of hair, and I couldn’t get enough of how she felt, hot and tight as I slid a finger inside. Her breath caught, and she grabbed my wrist, not to stop me, just to hold on, pushing me deeper.

So, I slipped another finger in, starting off slow, ya know, just testing the waters, then picking up the pace as she started rocking with me. Her body was gripping me tight down there, and damn, I wanted more. I needed to taste her. So I pulled my hand out, yeah, she made this little annoyed grunt, but I ignored it, and slid down, tugging her jeans and panties lower. Her thighs were pale, kinda cute with a few freckles scattered around, and I could smell her, all musky and real, nothing fake or flowery about it. I pushed her legs apart, got comfy between them on the couch, and went for it, licking slow and flat right over her clit. She jumped a bit, her hands grabbing my hair, pulling a little too damn hard, but whatever, I didn’t care. I kept at it, sucking gently at first, then harder, tasting her, salty, sharp, all her, while she wiggled around and muttered curses under her breath. My jeans were straight-up torturing me by then, way too tight, so I fumbled with one hand to pop the button, just trying to get some relief.

She caught on quick, sat up a little, and shoved at my shoulders, flipping us so I was flat on my back. The couch springs squeaked like crazy under us. Her hands were at my waistband, yanking my jeans down, boxers coming along for the ride, and there I was, hard as hell, already a little wet at the tip. Look, I’m not some porn star or anything, just average, uncut, nothing special, but the way she stared at it, all hungry-like, made me feel like hot shit for a second. She didn’t mess around, grabbed me with her hand, stroking rough and fast, her thumb sliding over the head, spreading the mess. I groaned, louder than I meant to, honestly, my hips jerking up into her grip. She leaned down, her hair brushing my stomach, and I thought, oh hell yeah, she’s gonna go for it, but nope, she just hovered there, her hot breath teasing me. I tried pulling her closer, hands on her shoulders, but she held back, smirking like she knew she had me wrapped around her finger. Then she croaked out, voice all rough, “Got a condom?” Her cheeks were red, lips puffy from kissing, and I could still taste her on mine. “Uh, yeah,” I mumbled, fumbling for my wallet in my jeans pocket, praying to God I still had one in there. Lucky me, I did, kinda crumpled, but it’d do. I handed it over, hands shaky as hell, and she ripped it open with her teeth, rolling it on me fast and sloppy, her fingers brushing against me.

I was throbbing, couldn’t think straight, just needed to be inside her. She climbed on top, straddling me, her knees digging into the couch on either side. I grabbed her hips, guiding her down, watching as she lowered herself, the tip of me brushing against her, all wet and warm. Then she sank down, slow at first, taking me in bit by bit, and holy shit, the way she stretched around me, tight and hot, had us both groaning at the same time. She stopped for a second, adjusting, her hands on my chest, nails digging in just enough to sting. Then she started moving, rocking her hips, and I pushed up to meet her, the rhythm all messy but desperate. We were a damn disaster, the couch creaking loud as hell, her breathing all over the place, my hands probably gripping her ass too hard. I could feel every bit of her, the way she held onto me, wet and slick even through the condom, and I was already fighting not to finish too quick.

She leaned down, kissing me again, biting my lip a little, and I slid a hand between us, finding her clit, rubbing circles while she rode me harder. Her moans got louder, these sharp little gasps, and I knew I wasn’t gonna last much longer, but hell, I didn’t wanna stop. Didn’t wanna, fuck, I didn’t wanna mess this up before she got off. My thumb kept at her clit, pressing harder, feeling how her body tensed every time I hit it just right. She was getting tighter around me with every thrust, and I could feel that heat building in me, that ache telling me I was close. Too damn close. I gritted my teeth, trying to focus on her, on the way her thighs shook against mine, the little drops of sweat on her forehead, the way her tits bounced in that plain black bra she hadn’t even bothered to take off. I reached up with my other hand, yanked the strap down her shoulder, got one nipple out, hard, pink, and leaned up to suck on it, rolling it with my tongue. She gasped, let out a sharp “shit,” and her hips jerked faster, grinding down on me. “Keep, fuck, keep going,” she muttered, her voice cracking, and I wasn’t about to argue. I sucked harder, nipped just enough to make her flinch, while my thumb kept working her clit, fast and sloppy.

Her movements got all wild, no rhythm, just pure need, and I could tell she was close, the way she pulsed around me. I thrust up harder, meeting her halfway, the couch groaning like it might give out, and I was barely holding on myself. Every damn nerve in me was screaming to let go, but I hung on, just barely, ‘til she threw her head back, letting out this low, raw moan as she came. She squeezed me so tight I nearly lost it right then, her whole body shaking, nails digging into my shoulders hard enough to leave marks for sure. After that, I was done for. I grabbed her hips with both hands, pulled her down as I thrust up one last time, as deep as I could get, and I came hard, groaning like a dumbass, the condom catching it all as I pulsed inside her. It felt like forever, that insane rush, but it was probably just a few seconds before I was spent, breathing heavy, hands still holding onto her like I might fall off the stupid couch. She kinda collapsed forward, her forehead on my shoulder, both of us panting, sweaty as hell.

I could smell her hair, that sharp citrusy stuff mixed with the raw, sweaty scent of us together. For a moment, I just stayed there, still inside her, feeling those little aftershocks as her body twitched around me. Didn’t last long, though. Maybe a minute before she pushed herself up, wincing a bit as she slid off. I felt my dick slip out, the condom all slick and messy, and there was this odd, empty ache as she moved away from me. She didn’t say a word, just sat back on the couch, tugging her bra strap into place and snatching her panties off the floor. I sat up too, feeling awkward as shit, peeling off the condom and tying it up before tossing it onto the coffee table next to some empty mug. Real classy, huh. My jeans were still bunched around my knees, so I yanked ‘em up, buttoning fast, feeling the damp sweat on my skin and the dull ache in my thighs from holding her up. “Fuckin’ hell,” I muttered, mostly to myself, running a hand through my hair. It was damp at the roots, and I probably looked like a total mess. She just let out a little huff of a laugh, not even looking my way, already pulling her jeans back on. Her face was still flushed, lips all red, but there wasn’t any warmth there, no lingering look or anything like that. Just… done, I guess.

She stood up, stretching a little, her back to me while she fixed her sweater, and yeah, I got the message. This wasn’t gonna turn into some deep, meaningful chat or whatever stupid thing I might’ve half-hoped for in my dumb brain. “You good?” I asked, getting to my feet too, grabbing my flannel off the floor where it’d been tossed. My voice came out rough, throat all dry, and I realized I hadn’t drank a damn thing since the bar. “Yeah,” she said, turning just enough to glance at me. “You?” “Yep.” I nodded, shoving my hands into my pockets ‘cause I didn’t know what the hell else to do with ‘em. There was this weird quiet between us, not exactly tense, just… empty. Like we’d said all there was to say, or maybe there wasn’t anything to begin with. I glanced around her tiny, cramped apartment, taking in the peeling wallpaper and the stack of unopened bills piled on a side table. Figured I should probably get outta here. Didn’t wanna overstay my welcome or make things weirder than they already were. “Guess I’ll head out,” I said, scratching the back of my neck. “Got work early tomorrow. Wiring job over in Valby.” “Cool,” she replied, already heading toward the little kitchenette, grabbing a glass from the sink like she was done with me. “See ya around, maybe.” “Yeah, maybe,” I mumbled back, pulling on my boots by the door. Didn’t know if she meant it, didn’t really feel like asking either.

I grabbed my jacket, the chilly air from the hallway creeping in as I cracked the door open. Gave her one last nod, but she didn’t even look up, just filled her glass with water from the tap. And that was that. I stepped out, the creaky stairs echoing under my feet as I headed down, the buzz from the beer and the sex fading quick into the damp Hvidovre night. Outside, the slush had frozen into ice, and I damn near slipped on the sidewalk, cursing under my breath. My breath puffed out in little clouds, and I shoved my hands deeper into my jacket pockets, walking toward Hvidovrevej to catch a late bus home. My head felt empty, not in a bad way or anything, just… blank. No big life-changing thoughts, no wondering if I’d run into her again at Den Blå Hund or some other spot. Just the crunch of ice under my boots, the faint hum of a car somewhere in the distance, and that lingering ache in my legs reminding me of what just went down.

I passed by the Esso where we’d met a few days ago, the neon sign still buzzing in the dark. Didn’t even bother glancing inside. Didn’t need to. Halfway to the bus stop, my phone buzzed in my pocket, and I fished it out, figuring it was a work text or some stupid group chat nonsense. Nah, just a spam message about some discount on pizza at that crappy place on Enghavevej. I snorted, deleted it, and kept walking, the cold nipping at my ears. Eh, maybe I’d grab a slice tomorrow if I felt like it.