He had big hair and wore bright colors, mostly reds and yellows. He wore rings. He had an overmodulated, feminine voice and a vocabulary heavy on adjectives. His manner was a bit swishy. Ok, a lot swishy.
One night he performed "A Lil' Ole Bitty Pissant Country Place" from The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas!
One of my jobs was to replace the soda and lemonade canisters, which involved swinging 50-pound jugs over my head. Roy watched with a cruisy gleam in his eye. "Watch it -- you'll fall," he said, and and clapped his hands onto my waist to steady me. And "accidentally" feel my butt.
The rest of the story is too risque for this blog. Read it on Tales of West Hollywood.