After hours: I give my all in exotic Istanbul

Millicent Binks28 August 2015

"Why have you come to here?" asks a Turkish man heaving my suitcase off the conveyor belt at Istanbul airport. "For a party," I reply mysteriously.

He looks at the size of my gigantic bag and says: "Must be a crazy party."

It's full of three burlesque costumes, consisting of five-foot feather plumes, Swarovski-covered heels and a menagerie of hairpieces. I'm on my monthly trip to this glorious metropolis to perform at a burlesque show.

My fellow showgirls are two German beauties who go by the stage names of Miss Octavia (a dear friend with whom I've had many a European adventure) and Beau Daggers. We don't really talk to Beau because she tried to convince the club promoter to book her friends instead of us.

Octavia overheard her proposing this last month and the result was rather catty.

I share a hotel room with Octavia, who is the perfect stereotype of a kinky German woman.

Her last job was as a "natural champagne" telephone hotline girl, where she would run the tap next to the phone trying to keep the pervs on for longer than 10 minutes so she could earn a cash bonus. Burlesque dancing is her perfect artistic outlet.

We order Turkish pancakes from room service and unpack. Octavia pulls out her laptop. "I have a Skype date with my girlfriend," she says. "Ooh, perhaps I should leave you on your own?" I say with a giggle.

Her relationship with her girlfriend Saki, a Japanese bondage artist, consists of Saki ordering Octavia to entertain her on Skype-cam.

Octavia feigns a blush. "Saki wants me to play with you in front of the camera." Octavia is a blonde goddess whom I have fancied for quite a while, so I do my best to satisfy Saki's orders - and end up with quite a large lovebite on my breast.

Room service arrives but when Saki catches a glimpse of the delivery boy on the webcam she orders bed service - three courses. I refrain from this game and sneak off to have a bath.

I manage to cover up my lovebite with lots of body make-up before showtime at the club. I am the opening act.

The lighting is pinky lilac to complement my skin tone and as the music pounds out I hit every beat with a bump of my hip and a twist of my wrist.

Everyone in the audience is pleasantly excited - except a bodyguard in front of the stage.

I remove my glove slowly above my head and bring it down around the bodyguard's neck and rub it back and forth. His face remains deadpan. Just before I totally give up I tuck my bra into his jacket. Finally he cracks a smile. I triumphantly pose to finish. I love to win over a tough member of the audience.

The party comes later - on the six-storey-high rooftop of a stagehand's flat. His name is Erran and we affectionately call him "Errand boy". It's quite chilly on the roof but the raki is warming and the view is unbeatable. I can see about six mosques and the city is covered in red and white flags billowing for the next day's marathon. The party is full of artists and transvestites and interesting people. I notice that even the deadpan bodyguard is here. "I've never seen burlesque before but I enjoyed that very much," he says, sidling over. I realise how exotic burlesque still is here, but the diversity of this city makes it a perfect place for the scene to grow. I love Istanbul.

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