The Skeleton of a blackman

There wasn't much choice as far as off-campus housing went. I knew I didn't want to stay in the dorms, no matter how much my friends ribbed me for becoming a recluse; no amount of college camaraderie made up for shitting in a stall next to a stranger for four years. I also didn't want to get a boner in front of some hot guy passing through who had the confidence (and body) to flaunt what he had. I felt certain that it was easy to pick me out as gay by my voice and face--friends like to call it "gay by face"--and I didn't want to deal with accusations of coming onto straight guys. (Mostly it was the horrific idea of having explosive diarrhea in what basically equated to a public restroom.) So, off-campus housing it was. Unfortunately for my parents, a lot of the "living experiences" tailored for college students seemed on the higher end of acceptable living expenses. I searched high and low for ads from people in and around town who were looking for roommates. That's how I came across Russ.