I need to know

It’s an extreme understatement to say I have a thing for men in nice quality, well cut suits. Keep your tight t-shirts or bare whatever—I don’t even recognize what’s considered sexy by most women. For me it’s a tailored suit, crisp shirt and sharply knotted tie. When all the pieces come together, I can be shameless. I’ll stop dead in my tracks. I’ll run my eyes up and down their bodies. I’ll turn around as they walk past so I can view from all angles...

When Blaine slipped off his overcoat at the coat check tonight, I dissolved. Charcoal suit, monochromatic shirt and tie. Damn. At intermission I was able to admire him again while he was at the bar getting us glasses of wine. It doesn’t hurt that he’s built well and a suit accentuates all the good parts.

I suppose I should say something about the concert. Three pieces were performed, one by Tchaikovsky, which I assumed I would like and did. The others were nice, too. The program said the three were selected for their beauty and romance, so no marches or screechy strings. I didn’t sleep well last night and after a long day at work, I grew sleepy a few times.

I perked up afterward as we walked to a bar a few blocks away. The temperatures are back to seasonable and we were both starved for fresh air so the walk was nice.

We went to a small bar that’s been around forever. The entrance is part way down an alley. Way back in the day it was a side door for a theater. The bar shares one wall--the stage wall--with the building next to it. All the gears, pulleys and chains that facilitated moving scenery around are still there.

The place is intimate but the lighting that was once provided by candles on the tables is now provided by two televisions mounted on walls. Change with the times, I guess. Tiny two-person cocktail tables still fill part of the space. We stood for a short time until one opened up.

Blaine admitted his favorite part of the symphony is going once every five years or so. I laughed and agreed. I didn’t say it was worth it to see him in a suit, but my dress seemed to go over well, too, so I’m guessing he would have agreed on attire being a high point.

After covering how our weeks went (I didn’t bring up the budget cuts), he slid his hand overtop mine. “There’s something I need to know about you.” His tone was serious but his expression less so. I think I held my breath. “Why do you have a large portrait of George Washington?”

It took me a second to catch up, then I laughed. I didn’t realize he had seen it, but I guess it is visible when you come into my house through the front door. It hangs in the room just off the living room. It’s been part of my life for so long, I forget it exists. “The short version of a long story is I inherited it when I was three years old from a friend of my mom.”

“Hmm mmm." He absorbed the explanation. "I’ll need the long version to understand why a three-year-old needs a portrait of our first president.” I provided it. And with that we were off, trading stories about favorite possessions and people we knew as kids. He’s able to tell an awfully good story, a skill I do not have.

It’s very easy to spend time with him. It is becoming easier to relax around him, too. I don't want to get used to it, and yet that's exactly what I'm hoping for.