Sex In A Bottle!

Intoxicated teenager, I was, growing up in Yellowknife, Northwest Territories. Heck, it was the 80s, what else was there to do? Neither social media nor the internet had been invented yet. Only a few boring television stations, Netflix, Amazon Prime, and Disney+ wouldn't become entertainment options until 2002. And freezing cold temperatures, from October until March, forced us to socialize indoors for almost three seasons. So we partied a lot, “Party like it’s 1999,” by Prince. I mean, once that snow blanketed our bungalow-lined streets, we couldn’t risk getting frostbite. We had to stay inside to keep warm. But we also couldn’t risk getting cabin fever, so…

Drinking hooch was the only remedy.

And no, we didn’t cook up our own mash and distill bottles of moonshine. This wasn’t the prohibition. It was isolation sickness. And the liquor store sold us the medicine. Well, it sold an eighteen-year-old with proper ID the booze, and we reaped the benefits of living in a close-knit community. And, of course, we indulged excessively. Lots of beer, lots of dancing, and lots of sex…

Did I mention it was the 80s?

Okay, I agree. We were indeed “Young and Restless,” by Prism. But the health risks synonymous with cigarette smoking and excessive drinking weren’t fully acknowledged until the 1990s. Remember, the alcohol and tobacco companies paid off a lot of politicians to keep those dangers quiet. And almost every far north community in the world has major problems with alcohol abuse. Just check out the stats for Alaska, Russia, Greenland, Ireland, etc. And it’s not just the freezing cold environment, it’s also the occupation. Mining, Oil Rigging, and Quarrying have the highest rate of alcoholism of any other profession.

Sweaty, sexy, intoxicating miners built Yellowknife.

Yup, in the 1930s, long after the Klondike Gold Rush, lone-wolf prospectors began staking gold claims around the West Arm of Great Slave Lake. Yellowknife Bay quickly became one of Canada’s most significant gold-producing regions for sixty-five years. And boy oh boy was there a lot of gorgeous young men living in my hometown back in those wild party-on-dude days. From all over the world, they came to seek their fame and fortune. Hardworking, muscular...

OMG, don’t get me excited!

Decades, it’s been, since I lived in Yellowknife. And 1999 is long gone. Even the songwriter isn’t with us anymore, sadly. And nothing, I mean nothing, beats the sexy rock n roll music of the 80s. “Slide It In,” by Whitesnake was blasting out from my portable boom box as I lost my virginity sexing inside the cockpit of a vacant float plane.

And yes, it was a pretty small cockpit.

Hold on, let me explain. Back then, a lot of very ambitious bush pilots, from everywhere, flocked to Yellowknife. Remember, gold mining only lasted sixty-five years. So, by the late 1980s, it was beginning to tap out. And it was only reasonable that many of us worried about the fate of our small town. Then, “It’s a Miracle” by Culture Club! One of our lone-wolf prospectors discovered diamonds! Folks who owned single-engine float planes were suddenly flying out onto the tundra of a thousand lakes and staking their claims. It was absolute mayhem. By the 1990s, Yellowknife’s tiny airport became the busiest in all of North America. The party was back on! The money was flowing, and the Canadian beer was endlessly being poured.

That midnight sun was, once again, in “ecstasy.”

What that means is, from June through late August, the sun barely goes down. So by midnight, your all-nighter bush party was still well illuminated, and wildlife was unlikely to crash it. “Real Wild Child,” by Iggy Pop was us Yellowknifers. It’s the town’s geographical positioning that Yellowknife’s summers are so bright and the long winters, so dark. BTW, no one flies their floatplane during the winter months. Though an owner could swap out their floats for a pair of skis, most pilots wouldn’t risk the cold. Imagine crashing down onto the frozen solid ice, in the middle of nowhere, and the weather being -50 °, yikes-a-doodle, indeed! Nor do they fly floatplanes at night, due to the low visibility when landing on the water. So the lakeside docks are full of these little planes, floating there like waterbeds, unlocked. And no one is going to hotwire an airplane. You’d need to know how to fly first. And secondly, you wouldn’t get past air traffic control without being spotted by their “Radar Love,” by Golden Earring.

Finding an open door, sneaking into the cockpit, and having sex, was easy.

Not saying I was easy. Hold on a minute! “Like a Virgin” by Madonna, I waited until I was eighteen and responsibly checked off all the birth control boxes before sexing inside that tiny floatplane cockpit. And man-oh-man was he sexy. What am I saying? It was the 1980s, and everyone was sexy! Big hair, short skirts, dramatic makeup, and tight spandex pants, even the guys were wearing. Oh, and that overpowering scent of Drakkar’s Original cologne, the signature fragrance of the entire decade. Every guy was splashing on that “sex in a bottle” smell. And every gal eagerly swooned whenever it filled the midnight air. You know what they say; the olfactory glands excite memories and emotions more than any of the five senses. So why, in Heaven’s name, did the company go ahead and change the original formula? Why? Drakkar Noir is way too citrusy and simply doesn’t do it for me, not at all. Not even a hint of excitement, an impulse, or one sexy memory in HD to get me going. Nothing!

At my age, one bottle could “Kick-Start My Heart,” by Motley Crue.

Yup, that vintage fragrance was indeed intoxicating. And yes, of course, I was much younger, wilder, and hormonally jacked-up four and a half decades ago. Now, in my sixties and menopausal, my sex drive kind of went out the door, literally. No, my husband didn’t leave me. He’s an old bugger too, LOL. You see, like most things in life, social norms are determined by each generation. So when the research, proving excessive drinking was dangerous, finally went public, I decided to ditch the bottle. And it’s been decades since I spent a weekend getting drunk and having sex in the cockpit of some random person’s floatplane. Today, I wear a lot less makeup, sip a little port wine with my ole man, and together we simply snuggle up and watch the sun go down. Okay, I’m not that old, LOL. I still have a lot more adventure left in me. I’m here, aren’t I? Gossiping with ya’ll, like I did back in the day when passing handwritten notes was my generation’s social media. So here’s a little secret. While my husband slept, I quietly logged onto the internet, typed, “Sex in a bottle 1980,” in the search engine, and lo and behold, Drakkar’s Original cologne popped up. Excited I got! Until I found out that a vintage bottle was going to cost me $922. Oh, come on, that’s way too expensive! And then it hit me like a ton of bricks…

Sex is completely overrated!

Quickly, I closed the laptop and looked back at my charming husband peacefully asleep. I smiled to myself, climbed back into our warm bed, and for the rest of the night we happily snuggled.

“Lost in Love,” by Air Supply, was playing in my head.