Cuckolding  in Istanbul - a cock and bull story!

I smiled when I bought in a charity shop a Penguin paperback book on short French stories. Somewhat dated I eagerly turned to 'Cuckolded - hanged and happy' by Jouhandeau. Now why would that 'C' word intrigue me?

This is a true story I sent to the InterNations organisation in Germany to warn ladies who travel alone against predators of the male species! Finally they wrote they could do nothing without his full name, which I never knew. Frankly did not care!

I was invited to a 70th dinner party in May 2014 in Istanbul by a known UNESCO British Archeologist. Well why not thought I? I decided to stay a month in Pera, the European side of the Bosporus, at the cozy traditional Buyuk Londra Hotel with a balcony overlooking The Golden Horn. It had been the sister hotel to the famous posh Pera Palas during the Golden Age of Travel.

I made the error of writing an announcement online in the free member's forum on the InterNations website, as I was a paid up Albatross member. I had written a few months earlier 'Jilliana from the UK would like to see Istanbul through a member's eyes', without specifying male or female! A big mistake not to be repeated, as anyone can join initially for free without a kosher profile. I immediately received 2 replies from 30-something males.  One a lawyer called Ali who I never met but am still in contact with from time to time on Viber. Alı later confessed he was looking for a non-Turkish girlfriend and asked me to procure one! The other, Ahmet 'pounced' on me verbally! Little did I suspect what he, the evil one, had in mind!!

Predator Ahmet sent me his mobile number and a couple of mornings later, I spontaneously texted him wanting a walkabout. He responded immediately addressing me as 'beautiful lady'! I should have suspected then but I knew no one at that stage in the vast city so, ‘Neden Ki?’ Why not? Next, he sent me his photo and also photos of cheap looking handwoven Turkish rugs. I assured him I was not interested in buying rugs, to which he enthused he just wanted me to see the new ones in his flat! Not to my sophisticated taste, however, I suggested he came to my hotel at noon to show me 'his'Istanbul. 

Ahmet arrived on the dot of noon as the grandfather clock in the eclectic lounge struck the 'seduction' hour and the parrot squawked 'Merhaba!' An average European boyish specimen of about 34 with a self-confident smile. Not my type at all.  He eagerly offered to show me an 'out of the way' district not too far away, producing, like a magician, a metro ticket for me. No car, no taxi as he had a ticket to ride or was it to take me for a ride?

Off we went passing, on the way to what I thought would be a cultural district, a modern hotel very close to mine. For some reason I commented that the architecture looked out of place as all the other buildings were historic. It was then he proudly informed me that Cuckolding went on in that specific hotel. Had I not referred to 'that' hotel, would the 'C' subject have emerged or was he just testing my 'sexual' knowledge and 'experience? I shall never know. I was not at that stage in the 'C' zone! Was he testing the type of woman I was or am? I had only come across the word in old English literature and the Italian word 'cornuto'. Being a linguist I demanded to know the full 'C' meaning in context!

His eyes sparkled. I had opened a can of worms or should I say cocks and bulls, not cock and bull!  His favourite topic and indulgence. He whipped out his mobile to show me the meaning, bragging he was an Master Alpha Bull. He was into more than fucking that's for sure and no doubt was a regular visitor at the modern corporate hotel proudly telling me the capitals of Cuckolding were New York, Paris and Istanbul!

We slowly arrived at the impressive statue filled metro station with his 'hard earned' spare ticket where he took some photos of smiling (but not for long) Sultana Jilliana, wearing her Dutch green and black dress complimented by a bright emerald green turban. Did I look in his eyes, like a dominatrix?

We travelled 2 stations and got out in a vast desolate concrete square with very few people walking about, crossing over to a rundown area called Aksaray, Fatih with Russian signage above the warehouses.  The people who come and stay in this area are the buyers and sellers of not only garments but other things as well such as sex and sex trafficking from Russia, Eastern Europe, Romania and the Ukraine. This, he proudly announced, was also the prostitute area but they, probably, Russian angels of the night, only came out at 7.00 pm and the black ones of dubious heritage at 6.00pm! Obviously in the know, but why would he think I would be interested in this unattractive seedy 'business' area? I asked the rates which of course he knew and today I have forgotten. Not expensive as they were not ‘call girls’ but out hustling on the streets and in dingy rooms in sleazy local hotels. Black being cheaper than white! I asked about their menus too as the prices went up and down depending on when the 'members' went up or down! At some point we passed a black woman wearing a sexy tight lacy mini dress with a well endowed derrière. Ahmet grunted, like the bull that he was, flaring his nostrils, turning and said he wouldn't mind 'having' her for dinner. But why tell me? It was clear he didn't care where he put his member! 

2.00 pm came.  I was famished and, as I enjoy Beetroot soup - Borsht, I thought I would take advantage of the ethnicity of the area and invite my so-called sex mad 'guide' for a snack, not that he deserved it mind you, but I felt like a change from the usual Turkish meze and kebabs. Being gustatory, I salivated thinking not of hot sex and sour tasting spunk but hot Borsht with sour tasting cream! 

Ahmet seemed to know the district well telling me he had had dealings with the Eastern Block, and had exhibited in the USSR with commodities but his business had gone down the toilet and he was skint. I got the message, loud and clear, Ahmet was looking for a foreign Sugar Mummy! MOI!! Ooh la la! Did the stallion back the wrong mare!! Did he imagine me to be a British angel of love? Did they have a special 'mounting' technique in Turkey? Did I really miss a bullish opportunity?

He picked an empty Ukrainian cafe which was clean but basic. Soup, red cabbage and sausages were on the laminated menu in Russian which he was able to read. He boasted he was on Linkedin and showed me his entry on his phone which mentioned his exaggerated no doubt, business experience at USSR trade fairs adding 'What I couldn't write, was what a good fuck I am!' Was I missing a trick here? Even though I had been involved in the world of conjuring and illusion for 30 years, I had not 'turned a trick!'

After a not so bad cheap lunch, although weary from endless walking, I saw from the outside an interesting but locked Armenian orthodox church. Ahmet chatted to the armed guard in a sentry box outside.  I knew about the tensions between the Turks and the Armenians and their genocide. On we walked taking photos of the broken down Aksaray area with its cafes and typical low stools and tables covered with reddish machine made traditional woven tablecloths. Only men were seated with their little cups of precious thick black coffee. 'Kurds!!' He announced dismissively and disdainfully. I photographed a presumably Syrian woman lying on the street with her baby boy wide awake gazing at me silently while his exhausted mother slept surrounded by her pitiful possessions. And on we walked in endless Neverlandia.

I was in need of a rest and a coffee. We had somehow arrived at the better known area of Kumkapi specialising in fish restaurants. He knew a traditional cafe with Nargileh or Hookahs (not hookers) and a friendly owner, telling me that we would have to call for a taxi back to the metro as we had walked so far. I announced he could buy the coffees. Amazingly he replied 'yok', business was bad and so he couldn't afford to, showing me some paltry coins in his pocket amidst a $50 note which the cafe owner obviously could not cash! I hit the roof. I had nothing further to say to him. In silence, after our Turkish coffees, we took a taxi back to the metro and he sheepishly apologised for his bad behaviour. I slammed the taxi door and limped off unaccompanied in the metro, alone for the first time in the large overwhelming exciting Ottoman historic city. There's always a first time and a challenge a la Turque!

Rushing back to my cozy traditional room at the Buyuk Londra Hotel in Pera,  I enthusiastically googled Cuckolding for 'educational' purposes of course and even found an entry on 'Craig's list' for Istanbul. I learned about the underbelly of Istanbul that afternoon and had a fascinating insight into the dark side of peoples' alternative and sexual proclivities and lives!

I still have Ahmet’s texts and photos on my mobile phone but somehow I don't think I will be calling him. I'm sticking to the 'Museum of Innocence’ in the antique junk district of Cukurcuma - more my 'C' style!

Written in Brighton in December 2017. Updated in 10.10.18.


Google - Cuckolding - Craig's list in Istanbul
Google - Museum of Innocence, Istanbul
Google - Buyuk Londra Hotel
Google - Wikipedia cuckoldry
You Tube -Ask a porn star
Google - 'Cockolded - hanged and happy'
Google - Cockolding New York Times article by therapist
Google - Aksaray Istanbul
Google - InterNations
Google - Cucholding and Hotwifing 
Google - Bustle. What’s a Cuckolding Fetish? Isai Grand