Love Walter:  A Couple in Crisis

Dear Walter,


Have you ever had a situation with a boyfriend’s group of friends that nearly derailed a relationship?


-Rocky Relationship

Dear Rocky Relationship,


Once upon a time, I dated a promoter in the City That Never Sleeps, a relationship later put on the rocks after too many cocktails. Ray invited me to a housewarming party one week into our relationship. Cocktails and conversation with his friends replaced dinner and a movie. Or, so I thought.


We arrived via taxi in East Harlem where a brown couch hung out of the apartment building like a giant ass brownie. An examination revealed a couple struggling with their sofa. How romantic? Two breeders in love who were too cheap to hire movers were sharing the pain.


More people walked over towards us and they all knew Ray. Oh, hell no! I was not trying to move shit in my new leather pants. Ray wore pajama bottoms because he ripped his jeans the night before trying to do a split. How are they throwing a Housewarming party without the house already set up?


Black people. It took three people to move that couch up five flights of stairs. No elevator.

Then there were the dresser drawers, kitchen appliances, tables and chairs, and more shit.




“You’re abandoning your friends?” I asked while shaking my head yes.


“I need a cocktail,” Ray said.


We took the taxi three blocks to the nearest liquor store. “There it is,” I said pointing my finger out the window.


“What about Absolut?” Ray asked.


“Absolutely!” I responded while clapping my hands.


We went back to the apartment. Chris and Henry were the only people present.


“Where is everyone?” Ray asked.


“They left and went back to Yonkers to grab the rest of the stuff,” Chris said.


“They got more shit!” I said while grabbing the bottle from Ray, and made myself a drink.


I took a sip.


3 hours and 6 cocktails later, we were drunk. The party finally started. Ray and I snuck off to the bathroom to talk.


“Walter, what are you doing?”


I grabbed his belt and unzipped his pants to get a closer look at my prize. I sucked for a few minutes before putting it back in his pants.


“Everyone is out there,” Ray said.


“Don’t make it seem like I’m the sex addict.”


“Last night was your idea,” I said. “It’s not my fault you were too drunk to get it up.”


I walked out the bathroom to make myself another drink. A group of his friends watched Ray sneak out after me.


“What ya’ll doing in there?” Chris asked.


I ignored him and started talking to Henry. Ray walked over and interrupted us.


“I’m tired of seeing that dress,” Ray said.


“Guys ignore him. He used to eat a lot. Now he drinks a lot.”


“You ugly skirt wearing bitch,” he said. I almost spilled my drink.


“Excuse me. You may be Oprah’s size but you are not her.” I said.


“You weren’t saying that when you were sucking my dick.”


“A girl has to earn a living,” I responded.


“Can it be a clean experience? There was green shit on the condom.”


“Ray you still paying for sex? I remember you offering me $200 to fuck you,” Chris said.


“Let’s be clear. Your 6-inch penis can’t make me shit,” I said.


“Chris, you can’t say shit like that in front of everybody,” Henry said.


“So, it’s true. You offered to pay your friend for sex?” I asked.


Things went too far. He stormed out of the apartment drunk and embarrassed


“Ray, where are you going?”


“I’m going,” he said.


“You’re so damn dramatic,” I said. “We can’t leave the liquor.”


I chased after him while balancing my cocktail. Drops of Vodka created a trail down the corridor. I pushed him on the stairs and sat on his lap.


“Whatever happened in the past is the past,” I said.


He kissed me.


“You know you’re amazing right,” he said.


“Tell it to the judge.” I said. “This went so well, I can’t wait to meet your parents.”


He laughed and kissed me again.  


We walked down the street looking for a taxi.





Make sure to also checkout previous Love Walter columns here

Got a question? Email your letters at [email protected] His advice column will appear on Wednesday.

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