Getting to Know Katinka Kock

"Do you want me to get your pillow from the car?"

"No. That won't work here. I'll just go to the toilet and unplug. I can do that for an hour or two."

Katinka got up and put out her cigarette in the ashtray.

A few minutes later she was back, showing me a large, black silicone object poking out of her bag.

"Here's the motherfucker!"

"You had that inside of you."

"Yeah. It can hurt so badly it you do anal without preparation."

"Duly noted."

"There seems to be more room in my rectum than in my handbag. But it would probably not be a good idea to keep my phone, keys and cigarettes there."

"Probably not," I agreed.

Katinka sat down.

"Ah! That's much better!" she observed.

"Ibiza sounds nice."

"I won't see much of it. I'll be in a horizontal position all the time."

"Too bad."

"Not at all. It pays the mortgage. Isn't it hot here?"

"Yeah, it's sunny and we're sheltered from the wind."

She took off her hoodie. Underneath she was wearing a black T-shirt with three unbuttoned snap buttons at the top. The low neckline rendered full justice to her large boobs. Below there was a silhouette of a well-endowed naked woman in high heels, a Venus symbol with a fist inside, and the text "Sex workers of the world unite!". All in pink.

"Sorry! That was the only clean T-shirt I could find. I washed the others this morning," Katinka smiled and relit her cigarette.

We were silent as the waitress brought our cups to the table.

"So, you're a feminist and a socialist?" I inquired.

"Yes. What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing. You're quoting Karl Marx there. Apart from the word 'sex'."

"I know. I do read books, you know. You don't need to lecture me, Professor," Katinka said sharply and inhaled aggressively from her cigarette.

"I'm not lecturing you. And I'm not a professor."

"You really see me as this brainless fuck-doll, don't you?" she asked and blew smoke in my face.

"Absolutely not. I just find it hard to reconcile your career in porn with being left-wing. I figured that as a sex worker you'd be more on the conservative side."

"So 'conservative' is having sex with 50 to 60 different men a year and displaying your blowjobs and buttfucks all over the internet? That's 'conservative' to you?"

"I guess not... I just thought that it might be difficult to live a progressive and politically correct life in your line of work."

"What do you mean?"

"Your job is to satisfy men. You sell yourself to male customers who pay to see you have sex."

"Customers like you."

"Yes."

"Listen, Professor," she said and exhaled smoke as she spoke. "I don't have a problem with taking my chances in a men's world. So far, I have a nice life with a pink vintage cabriolet and a nice little condo with an amazing view of the Copenhagen Harbour. What's not to like?"

"Okay. But where do your feminism and your socialism come into play? And what do you mean by those words on your, admittedly, very sexy T-shirt?"

"Well... I do help other less fortunate sex workers. Once or twice a month I volunteer at a shelter for trafficked women from Africa and Eastern Europe. And I donated 10.000 kroner to the last election campaign of the Red-Green Unity Party, of which I am a member."

"You are?"

"Yes. Probably not the most active member. But still."

"And how did you get into porn in the first place?"

"Oh. You want my story of moral decline?" she asked and inhaled the last smoke from her cigarette before putting it out in the ashtray.

"No. Not necessarily. I'm just curious about you."

"Okay. I saw this ad on the internet. It was in my final year in high school. I was 18 and had just moved away from home. In the ad they offered money for modelling. I'm a big fan of money and I figured I was pretty enough for the job. So I applied. It turned out to be porn. But as I said, I really like money. And the money was good."

"You were still in high school?"

"Yeah. Anyway, I got used to the cash and started spending it on tattoos and weed, which are expensive hobbies. After a while I realised that it was hard to keep my porn career secret when I was all over the internet and surrounded by students and teachers who watched porn. It turned out people in high school were not exactly open-minded towards somebody who fucks for a living."

"What happened?"

"They would call me 'hooker'. I lost a friend or two in the process."

"And you were with Mikkel?"

"For a while, yeah. But it was difficult. He struggled with jealousy. Like... when I would meet him after a shoot and not exactly be in the mood for fucking after hours of shooting hardcore porn... It's not easy when your girlfriend comes home two or three days a week with other men's ejaculate dripping out of her porn star yoni, is it?"

"I guess not."

"And I don't mean this literally. I always shower after work, you know. But then his 'free-spirited', artsy parents found out and it became impossible. So now we're just friends."

"So you stopped having sex with Mikkel because you started having sex for a living?"

"More or less, yeah. We've fucked a few times for old times' sake, though. We really like each other, you know."

"And then you graduated from high school?"

"I did not. I got this offer to fly to Amsterdam for a really well-paid shoot. My first anal scene, actually. I had missed so many classes... And then I figured, fuck it! I dropped out, took a loan for my first boob job and have lived happily in porn ever after."

We chatted for another hour before Katinka had to get back to her laundry and pack for the flight. She went to the toilet to re-plug and drove me back to the city where she stopped her VW outside the house where I live.

"If you had time, I'd invite you in, Katinka."

"Another time, Professor!"

"Yes. It's been great talking to you."

"It sure has. I might even tell you my real name and give you my phone number."

"Please!"

We wrote our contact information into each other's iPhones. I looked at mine when I got it back.

"Sofie Skjoldborg (Katinka)" it said.

"So 'Sofie Skjoldborg' is the real you?"

"It is. 'Katinka Kock' is a complete invention. The Skjoldborgs probably wouldn't like their unique family name to end up on Pornhub. The Kocks in this country are much more numerous than the Skjoldborgs. And I like the sound of Katinka. So I think I'm going to add it to my real name. Which do you prefer: 'Katinka Sofie' or 'Sofie Katinka'."

"Let me think about it. You want me to call you 'Sofie'?"

"That's up to you. Only my family and a few old friends know me as Sofie nowadays."

"You are Katinka to me."

"Whatever, Professor!"

"I'm not really a professor."

"And I'm not really a Katinka. See you soon!"

She leant forward and kissed me briefly on the mouth. I got out of the car and waved goodbye. Back in my apartment I logged onto my computer and spent hours watching her videos.

3.

Three days later my phone rang at noon.

Sofie Skjoldborg (Katinka), I read off my display.

"Hello, Katinka!"

"Hello, Professor! Wanna hang out tonight?"

"Sure. What's the plan?"

"I'd like to buy you dinner at this nice Italian place on Islands Brygge. Does that sound okay to you?"

"Absolutely. Are you back in town?"

"I'm at Frankfurt Airport. Flying home from Ibiza. I can be there at seven."

She gave me the address.

"See you!"

As I arrived at the restaurant, Katinka was already seated at an outside table with a red and white chequered tablecloth. She had two glasses and an almost empty bottle of Pinot Grigio standing in front of her next to the ashtray where she was flipping off the ash from her cigarette.

She got to her naked feet and kissed me casually on the mouth:

"Good to see you, Professor!"

"Likewise!"

Katinka wore large hoop earrings and an extremely short, low-neckline dark purple dress that completely exposed her tattooed back and generously displayed a broad cleavage all the way down to her belly button piercing. The dress was short with waist-high side slits and left very little to imagination. Katinka's pierced nipples were still covered but stood out visibly under the fine fabric. She sat back down and held up a pair of extreme high heel gold glitter plateau pumps with a left hand that had very long acrylic nail extensions, matching the shoe colour.

"I'm sorry. I hope I don't embarrass you with my porn star appearance."

"That's part of your charm, isn't it?"

Katinka smiled sarcastically.

"I look like a porn cliché, I know. All this fake gold just makes you look so cheap. Like coming out of a brothel."

She put down her ugly shoes down next to a bag from a duty-free store with a carton of cigarettes and a bottle of whisky.

"Isn't that the point?" I asked.

"Probably. And look at these."

She leant forward with closed eyes to show me her absurdly long fake eyelashes. Then she sat back on her chair to take a deep inhale from her Camel.

"My suitcase was stolen so I've travelled from Ibiza in these fuck-me heels that are no good for walking. I mean, ordinary hookers can't use them because they need to actually walk the streets."

Katinka exhaled smoke and continued:

"All you can do in them is lie down and spread your legs. According to my producer men get turned on by watching women being fucked hard in hideous shoes."

"I don't."

"Too bad you're not my producer. And which normal woman would keep her shoes on in bed anyway?"

"So you've come right off the set?"

"We shot until the crack of dawn. But don't worry. I've showered. Thoroughly. But all I had to travel in was these ridiculous plateau heels and this so-called 'sexy deep V neck halter backless slit mini dress'."

"I hate the shoes but love the dress."

"I agree. But I don't like spending 10 hours in planes and airports with nothing else to put on. The plane was late, so I've come straight from the airport."

"At least you didn't have to worry about heavy luggage."

"No. But there were other worries. On this fully booked flight between Frankfurt and Copenhagen I was seated with a group of beer-gulping hooligans, who had watched last night's Champions League match in Munich. Guess what? It turned out they all knew the famous Katinka Kock from Pornhub and insisted on loudly reviewing the highlights of my movie career while attempting to touch various parts of my body, which this outfit virtually invited them to."

"So you had to autograph a few beer bellies?"

"All of them. Yes. I hope they forget to remove my signature before they undress in front of their wives," she said and took a final drag from her cigarette before butting it out in the ashtray.

"Did you at least have some nice days on Ibiza?"

"It was hard work. I'll tell you that. Have you ever fucked underwater?" she asked as she exhaled small clouds of smoke.

"Actually, I have, yes."

"You have, Professor? Tell me about it!"

"Well, I was kayaking with my former high school girlfriend at this beach in North Germany where we went skinny-dipping. The underwater sex was fine. But when we got back on the beach, our kayaks were gone, and we had to get back to Denmark naked and with no papers."

(More about this in the story My Naked Marathon with Amanda.)

"Sounds romantic. Anyway, my Mozambican co-star had difficulties with underwater sex. So that shoot just took hours and hours. And I don't think I'm too happy with the result."

"Was he nice, the Mozambican guy?"

"I don't know. His English is as good as my Portuguese, which amounts to... nothing really."

"I thought you said you were half Brazilian?"

"All my father left before he took off was a blob of cum in my mother's pussy, not a language course. Anyway, I guess my co-star was nice enough. The producer kept insisting on very rough sex, which was painful at times. But you can't blame Mr. Big Dick from Africa for that, really."

Around 90 minutes later we were ending our four-course meal by feeding each other spoonfuls of our delicious desserts. Finally, Katinka pushed over her empty tiramisu plate, cleaned her teeth with her tongue, and picked the last cigarette from the pack on the table. She leant back, lit the cigarette, and looked me straight into the eyes.

"Wanna fuck me, Professor?"

Knowing her strict principles towards paying customers, I heard this as a merely theoretical question.

"Constantly," I answered casually.

"Fine. Let's do it then! I live five minutes away."

Katinka blew out a plume of smoke.

"You mean it? But I thought..."

"Yes. I know. Paying customers and private life and all that. But I like you. So I'll make an exception tonight."

Katinka took another drag from her cigarette and reached across the table. I took her hand and she exhaled smoke to the side before leaning forward and kissing me, parting my lips with her tongue.

After a while we sat back in our chairs while still holding hands across the table.

"First, we've got to establish some ground rules, Professor."

"Okay?"

"You have to wear a condom, you know."

"Yeah. I suppose that's the safest thing to do. Considering your job."

Katinka shook her head and smiled before taking in another mouthful of cigarette smoke.

"No-no... I was thinking the other way around."

"What do you mean?"

She explained with bits of smoke coming between her lips as she spoke:

"I fuck 50 to 60 different men a year, right? Condoms would be a serious turn-off to our paying customers. So we do it without. But that means that we get tested all the time... HIV, hepatitis, gonorrhoea, syphilis, chlamydia, trich, the works. Nobody in the industry can afford to get infected and we show proof of our recent negative tests before each shoot. It's a closed circuit of professionals. When did you have your last STD test, Professor?"

"I... I don't know. I don't think I ever had one."

"See my point: Use a condom. I have a bunch at home. Let's go!"

Katinka paid the bill with her card. We got up and started walking toward her I hand in hand. I carried Katinka's duty-free shopping bag so she had a free hand to hold her cigarette.

We were about 50 meters from the restaurant when the young pretty waitress caught up with us.

"Excuse me!"

We turned around and saw that she was holding Katinka's fuck-me shoes.

"Your shoes!"

"I don't want them. Just throw them out. They're ugly."

"Okay. Have a good night," the waitress shrugged and put the shoes into a bin next to a bench before returning to the restaurant.

"You too. And thanks," Katinka shouted in the direction of the waitress.

Her place was in a fancy condo complex in a converted silo on the harbour front. The view was spectacular as she had mentioned at the café a couple of days earlier.

Katinka was extremely present and attentive in bed without the impersonal or cold professionalism one might expect from a porn star. I obviously had to defer to her experience and let her take the lead.

Foreplay was long and affectionate, and she went about things completely without the porn theatrics of unlikely acrobatic positions or absurd deepthroating with accompanying puke-like sounds. She rolled on the condom in one quick move and wrapped her wet pussy around it, sitting on top of me.

I laid back, feeling safe, like in the hands of an extremely skilful cab driver or a tourist guide who knows all the secret gems of her city, as Katinka directed us towards a simultaneous orgasm, which I had never before experienced when being with a woman for the first time.

Afterwards, as Katinka was enjoying a postcoital cigarette, I felt a tinge of doubt. After all I was with a famous and very professional actress.

"Ehh... was it okay for you?"

Katinka laughed:

"What do you expect, Professor? That I invite you to bed to fake an orgasm? When I fuck on my own time, I make sure to cum. Don't you worry."

"I'm glad to hear that. Your pussy is super tight, by the way."

"Oh. Thank you. What did you expect? That it would be like sticking it into a large bucket because it had expanded so much from the hundreds of dicks that had been inside?" She took another drag from her cigarette.

"I don't know what I expected."

"That my pussy would be a bit worn out and shabby because of over-frequent use?"

Katinka teasingly blew a large smoke cloud into my face.

"No. I guess I was just trying to pay you a compliment."

"Thank you very much. You know I try to run a tight ship down there. Most men like it that way. And so do I. So I make sure to exercise my pelvic floor every day. Speaking of tight, did you ever try anal?"

"Eh... no."

"I thought so. You want to. I'm open to it. I mean... literally o-pen. After three days with this king-size Mozambican dick, I can take any dick up my ass. Even without wearing the butt plug that was in the stolen suitcase. It's probably up some huge asshole's huge asshole right now."

Katinka inhaled from her cigarette.

"Anyway, are you up to it?"

I hesitated for a second or two while she blew another enticing smoke cloud into my face.

"Come on, Professor. You should try it at least once in your life. And I guess nobody has offered you their butthole before."

"Okay. I guess it could be fun."

"I should hope so," Katinka said and put the cigarette between her lips so she could use both hands. She produced a bottle of lubricant from a drawer and squeezed out a splash on her palm.

"I always keep one fingernail short for practical purposes such as this," she explained and showed me the tip of her little finger before very efficiently using it to distribute the lube inside her asshole. Then she tore another condom wrapper and brought my penis back to an upright position with a firm, yet gentle, grip and swiftly mounted the condom.

She butted out her cigarette, directed me into a doggy-style position, and guided my dick into her pussy. We fucked like that for a minute before she gently pushed me out, smeared a generous blob of lube onto the condom and slowly inserted it into her asshole. She was right. Her butt turned out to be even tighter than her pussy.

She led my finger to her pierced clitoral hood and showed me the moves. I massaged her while slowly fucking her ass and we both came simultaneously.

Afterwards, we lay down next to each other and smiled quietly at each other for a minute.

"Professor, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship," she then said. "But I really need to sleep now. Goodnight!"

She kissed me briefly and lay down to sleep.

4.

All of this was three and a half years ago.

Katinka taught me so much. Obviously, about sex, about my body functions, and about getting frequent tests for venereal diseases to be able to fuck without condoms. And about smoking weed, which we do together occasionally. But also, not to feel embarrassed when I introduce my girlfriend, who obviously does not resemble or behave like a librarian or a lawyer with her fake boobs, her tattoos, her piercings, her wardrobe, and her directness, to my friends, my family, or the partners at the law firm where I work.

Lying or hiding how she made her money was never an option to her.

"I'm a sex worker," she would say with a big smile, first thing when being introduced to my parents, my bosses, or to friends and family who identified themselves as dentists, teachers, musicians, or whatever. This would inevitably, after a moment of hesitation, lead to long series of curious questions about working conditions, salaries, sexual specialties, and, and, and...

I learned to live with that. And later to value it.

We're still together. Last year Katinka sold her fancy condo with a hefty profit and moved into my humble quarters.

The number of job offers she receives from the industry has decreased now that she's 27 and the claim of her being in the 'teen' category has become a still more obvious lie.