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His torso tapered into his waist, and gray sweatpants rode low on his hips. His arms (delightfully furred in black) threatened to rip his T-shirt sleeves apart, and I wasn't sure how he even managed to get it on over his chest. Russell Wyatt looked like he could eat me for dinner and that still wouldn't sate his appetite. I thought, "Oh hey, cool, another student." I thought maybe I could have the best of both worlds: a private bathroom and swapping college life stories with another undergrad, albeit a slightly older one. He explained that his current roommate had graduated the semester before and he had gotten way in over his head by assuming he could just take on the rent by himself for the rest of undergrad. I called him up, we chatted a bit, and then he invited me over to have a look at the apartment. I searched high and low for ads from people in and around town who were looking for roommates. Unfortunately for my parents, a lot of the "living experiences" tailored for college students seemed on the higher end of acceptable living expenses. (Mostly it was the horrific idea of having explosive diarrhea in what basically equated to a public restroom.) So, off-campus housing it was. I felt certain that it was easy to pick me out as gay by my voice and face-aforementioned friends like to call it "gayby face"-and I didn't want to deal with accusations of coming onto straight guys. 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 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 complete stranger for four years. There wasn't much choice as far as off-campus housing went.