I Think My Boyfriend Has a Drinking Problem

Friday night tested our relationship. Trust issues coupled with his binge drinking drained me. We agreed earlier that day to meet at a New York nightclub called Secrets at 11pm. 
Photo by Max De Silver

Day four of no phone and limited funds fucked up my week. I arrived at the club just before 2am. I rushed in looking for my man, hoping he would be forgiving, and not willing to cause a scene. Besides I pulled this shit last week to teach him a lesson. I search everywhere—he was nowhere to be found.

Ray worked as a promoter at the club, and has to be there by 12am. This was unlike him when he knew that I waited for him with no phone. Randy, another promoter approached me.
“Where’s your husband?” 
“I have no idea.”
“Maybe he went to James’ thing.” 
A lie I told because I had no clue. I felt like a dumb bitch on reality tv, who knew her man was cheating but would never admit or address it. Then his friend approached me. I kept up with my story. 
At 3am, I had 3 drinks in my system.  I ran into Gwen, his former co-worker, and stalker. She’s been after my man for years. That’s the last bitch I wanted to see me sweat. I said a couple of words and walked past her ass.
He finally emerged with three other bitches. He walked in with my jacket and t-shirt like I styled him. Ray grabbed some guy’s hand and walked over to the bar. I went over there and ordered my cocktail. 
“So, why are you so late.”
“Sorry, I was busy.”
He handed me drink and kissed me. I approached Henry near the back of the club.
“Do I have to worry about anything tonight?” 
“No, we were just hanging out.” 
Ray was drunk. I watched him as he danced on guys. Then he put a guy’s number on his phone! I rushed over there and snatch the phone out of his hand.
“What are doing? This is business,” Ray said.
I handed him his phone. Then, I grabbed a drink from the bar and threw it his face. Security pulled my arm and ushered me out the club. 
“Get off me!”
I kept screaming until I felt the cold winds outside as the door opened. Oh well, I waited for him to exit the premises. I waited and waited until he appeared. He walked around looking for my jacket he wore earlier. 
“My jacket is here,” I said. 
“Oh, I’m not talking to you.” 
I rolled my eyes and got in the back of the car, sitting next to him. He placed his head on my lap and slept until we arrived at his door. 
“I’m not going home with you,” he said. 
“We’re at your house,” I said. “Ray, let’s go.”
I grabbed his arm to pull him off the backseat. He stumbled to the door and said, “I want to have sex.”
I dragged his drunk ass up a flight of stairs. 
I passed out on the floor beside him.

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Walter Reed is a writer, blogger, sexpert, sex columnist and gay dating advice guru. His work has been published in Washington Post, Huffington Post and here at LoveWalter.com Please like, comment and share.

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