Naked in the Shower with Randy Travis

Born in 1959, country-western singer Randy Travis has a face that would send me running for the exit: long and narrow, with a gigantic forehead and tiny, beady eyes -- and he wasn't much cuter when he was young.

I've never heard his voice, but it has apparently won him a shelf-full of Grammies, CMA, ACM, and AMA awards (whatever those are).

His discography looks rather heterosexist, with a liberal addition of Jesus-Saves Gospel: "It's God's Amazing Grace that brought me this far."

Is it just me, or do people who mention God in every other sentence tend to be homophobic?

Not much gay content in his acting career.  I thought he played Will's wealthy cowboy client on Will and Grace, but that was Harry Connick Jr.  Travis has been in some cowboy movies and Christian dramas.

He's apparently been "plagued" by "accusations" of gayness, which he "vehemently denies." Sounds you think being gay is about the worst thing in the world, cowboy.

He's been married twice.   In 1991 he married his manager, Libbie Hatcher, who was 20 years older than him (yeah, I know, a double standard).  They divorced in 2010, and in 2015 he married Mary Davis.

No kids.  A lot of "family, Family, FAMILY" lyrics, though.

Not very good fodder for a gay sausage sighting story, but I have one:

Warwick, Rhode Island, August 1984

Call me Carlo.  I'm a Rhode Island boy.  I drink coffee milk, say "cah" instead of "car," and know who won the Governor's Cup in 2017 (Brown). I can't imagine living anywhere else.

When I was growing up in Warwick, Rhode Island in the 1960s and 1970s, the Warwick Musical Theater was a place to stay far away from, if you had any interest in being cool.  They called it "The Tent," although in 1967 the original circus tent was replaced by a gaudy, candy-colored theater-in-the round.

It specialized in dinosaur acts: Wayne Newton, Tom Jones, Andy Williams, Perry Como (who we called Perry Coma). No rock, unless you count Sha Na Na.  No black performers, except once Sammy Davis Jr.

I graduated from high school in 1975, majored in English at Roger Williams and the University of Rhode Island, moved to Providence, and in 1982 got my first job, as an entertainment reporter for The Cranston Herald.  But I tried to steer clear of the Tent. A kid's ballet recital!  A society luncheon! Anything but that.

But one day, the editor told me that on Sunday, August 5th, the Tent was having "A Night with Barbara Mandrell and Randy Travis."  He ordered a review, plus an interview of one or the other.

I had heard of Barbara Mandrell, but I couldn't name one of her song.  I had never heard of Randy Travis, but his picture showed a nice physique and a considerable basket.  Besides, I figured, a guy is a guy.

Buster Bonoff, the owner of the Tent, would pick them up at the airport about noon on Sunday, bring them to their hotel, and give them about four hours to relax or rehearse before picking them up for the concert at 6:00.

My interview was scheduled at 5:00 pm at a waterside restaurant called Doughboy's, where Top of the Bay is now.

I prepared by going to the record store to look for Randy's albums -- there were none (Randy Travis: live at the Nashville Palace had been released, but the record store didn't stock it).  Nor did the radio station have any of his singles.

The country-western radio station in New Bedford had a single by Randy Traywick (his original name): "Dreamin'" and "I'll Take Any Willing Woman."

Way heterosexist.  I thought about going with Barbara Mandrell instead.

On the 5th, I drove down to Warwick early to take some pictures.  Then I discovered that I had a couple of hours to kill, so I decided to work out -- always a good idea to get buffed before interviewing a guy -- you never know what will happen.  Remind me to tell you about my interview with Sha Na Na.

I didn't have time to drive all the way back to Providence, so I stopped at the YMCA in Warwick, which happened to be down the street from Randy's bed and breakfast.  I used to go there all the time as a kid -- free weights, some Nautilus, and plenty of action in the sauna and shower.

Today I didn't have time for action.  I did some upper-body weight training and a little cardio, and hit the showers.

I had just begun to soap up, when I turned around, and there was Randy Travis, or at least someone who looked like him, not ten feet away, putting his towel on a hook. He chose the shower next to mine, turned it on, and stood under it.  Surprisingly not very tall, a lean physique with big biceps, smooth chest, and a very nice cut cock.

He turned around to wet himself, squirted some soap into his hand, and began lathering up his cock and balls, all the while grinning at me.  I instinctively felt for my own cock and started manipulating it.

We were alone in the locker room -- Sunday afternoons are dead time at the Y.  Did he want me to do more?

Newspaper reporters are not psychiatrists.  No rule prohibits us from going down on our interview subjects.  I took a step over and reached out my hand, ready to  fondle his penis.

That's when I made my fatal mistake.

"Hey, are you Randy Travis?" I asked.

His face fell into a frown, and his hands moved to cover his crotch.  "Yeah, why?  You a fan?"

I pretended that I had stepped over to shake his hand.  "I'm Carlo.  I'm supposed to interview you later for The Herald.  Take a picture, too."

"Cool.  I'll be there," he said with a suspicious frown.

Surprised by the sudden cold shoulder, I turned off my shower and grabbed a towel.  "Ok, so I'll see you a little later."

The interview went very badly.  I kept trying not to look at Randy's crotch, and his matronly manager kept butting in.  And the concert: let's just say that me and country-western music don't mix.

But to this day, I'm wondering: I was all over that YMCA for an hour before going to the showers, and I didn't see Randy Travis anywhere.  The only place he could have been is the sauna.  But he would have no reason to hang around the sauna for an hour.

Except....

See also: Hank Williams Nude