Aside from my motorcycle, my cologne is my only wicked and costly indulgence. It was introduced to me by Tyrone, the young man who had my men's washroom attendant franchise at the dance club I managed in Fort Lauderdale. I remember complaining that I was out of my preferred cologne and couldn't find it anywhere in Florida.

Tyrone informed me that for the cost of a brandy, he would introduce me to the best cologne on the planet. I indulged his claim and had the bartender serve him a brandy on the rocks. Before I could move, he sprayed both sides of my neck just below the earlobes with a bottle he had carried in his coat pocket

The scent was very nice, and I got compliments from all my female staff. It cost me another brandy before he revealed the name. This was something you could only purchase at a high-end department store and not your corner drugstore, because it wasn't cheap.

I eventually moved back North and managed another dance club. I again received many compliments about my scent from the female staff. One very attractive bartender was very persistent about my reluctance to share the identity of my cologne with her; she wanted to purchase it for her husband, and she must have asked me a dozen times until I finally gave in.

The next time I saw her, she reached into her purse and withdrew a large container of my favorite cologne and set it in front of me.

"Here," she said. "Merry Christmas".

I thought the whole incident was strange. The cost of this container was well over fifty dollars, and it was nowhere near Christmas; it was right after Memorial Day.

I caught her on break and inquired about her gift to me. This was her story.

She had purchased a large container for her husband and left it on the bathroom sink for him to use after his shower and shave. It seems that she had planned a whole intimate evening and was looking forward to it, that was until he crawled into bed next to her.

"Oh my God," she exclaimed, "But he stank."

"I made him take another shower, but it didn't help," and he was forced to sleep on the couch. I offered to pay her for it, but she wouldn't hear of it.

"I just want this out of my house," she concluded before crushing out her cigarette and returning to the bar.

Another part-time female bartender begged me for a specific day off during Spring break rush, and despite being up North, we would still be jammed. It took some finagling, but I managed to grant her the day she requested.

It was a week later that she presented me with a gift to say thanks for the day off. Inside, I found a tester bottle of my now favorite cologne. These large bottle usually found on the perfume /cologne counters for the public to sample. I didn't ask how she came by this; I surmised she had stolen it.

I was younger back then and not interested in the law, so I simply thanked her. I still wear this collagne, and every time I splash some on, I remember the first time I wore it.

Gals have the same problem: finding a perfume that does their looks and dress justice. My first serious girlfriend had the most exotic perfume I had encountered to date. Spending the night in her bed was a real treat. The fragrance of her perfume on her skin and her warm body pressed against mine was made extra special cause her pillow cases also bore her perfumed scent, what a way to fall asleep.

Her birthday was coming up, and I wanted to get her something special, so I asked her the name of her perfume. No matter how many times I asked, my question went unanswered.

"Don't bother buying me perfume," was all she would say.

No matter how many times I asked her, I received the same answer.

The ornate perfume dispenser on her dresser was getting low, so I kept watch and waited. When I saw it full, I would simply go through her trash and find the empty bottle, thus solving the mystery. It happened about a week or so later that I saw that the container was now full.

It just happened that I did not spend the night and left shortly after ten. I even offered to carry her trash to the dumpster. Once in the parking lot, I untied the bag and began sorting through the contents. This was in the time before we began to separate the recycling trash from the regular trash; everything was dumped into one container.

There at the bottom of the bag, I spotted the bottle of perfume and the box it came in. It was some cheap perfume that you could purchase at the local drugstore. As I reveled in my discovery, my girlfriend suddenly appeared and just stood there staring at me.

'You just couldn't let it go, could you? ' she asked.

'What's the big deal?" I countered.

" It was my secret. "The exotic-smelling perfume that has won me numerous compliments sells for five dollars a bottle," was her reply.

She left the trash area and returned to her apartment. She was not in a good mood, and talking to her did no good."

"I bought that bottle at an antique store," she said, pointing to the bottle on her dresser," she informed me. " I use a syringe and a long needle to draw the liquid out of its humble container and into this ornate one."

She never forgave me for snooping, as she called it, into her secrets, and we parted ways shortly after that incident. I still wear my cologne, but as I am married and no longer around single ladies, I don't get many compliments.

To this day, whenever I spray some on, I am reminded of the wonderful days of old.