Outside, the snow is falling, a dizzying ballet of large flakes on a stage of white. All is snow. Nothing else exists.

"You first," I say. It's become traditional for him to open his Yuletide presents first, but it's also become traditional for me to importune him into doing so; not that he particularly needs encouragement, but he thinks I'm cute when I wheedle. I give him my best wide-eyed, eager look and lean into him. "Please? Pretty please?"

"With sugar on it?"

"What else would you like on it?"

He smiles. "Depending on what 'it' is, I'd like a number of different things. Have you given yourself to me as a present, perhaps?"

"Oh, love. You ask that every year. My answer is still the same, too: I gave myself to you a long time ago, Erastes."

Our lips meet, followed by our bodies.

"I'll unwrap you later," he says at last, a bit breathlessly. "I like to save the best present for last. Let's see what else you put under the tree this year."

He reaches for the largest of the three packages I arranged by the tiny little tree. "It feels squishy, and it's as light as air. Hmm. I see dark fabric. It's black. And if I unfold it, it's... a silk shirt. That's a fine silk, too."

I got lucky at the thrift store. Very lucky.

"I like you in silk."

"You do, don't you?" he muses. "I'll have to wear this tonight."

The thought of that silk against my bare flesh is enough to send chills up and down my spine. "Yes, please," I gasp. The evening suddenly seems too distant.

"This one's heavy. What on earth did you put in here, a rock?" Underneath the wrapping is a box, which he opens. "Oh. You did give me a rock. I'm sure you had your reasons."

I can't help but laugh. His puzzled expression is priceless. "It's not just a rock. Try lifting it out of the box."

It's a pity there is no morning sun pouring through the east window.

"My word. A geode. A magnificent one, at that. That's beautiful. I'll keep it here for now. I can't wait to see what happens when it catches the light. All right, let's see what this last one is. It looks like a book. I wonder what's inside?" He slides his finger under the wrapping paper. He's very careful about the way he unwraps his presents. "A reproduction of a calligraphed, illuminated Song of Solomon. English translation on the right-side pages. Oh. Thank you. That is exquisite. How did you -"

"I saw it and grabbed it before anyone else could notice that it was there, the same way I did your new silk shirt," I reply. The geode was on display at a scientific supply store, and it was by far the most expensive of my purchases. The painfully high price may have been why it had been on display for months, in my line of sight every time I walked past the store in the downtown mall. The shirt and the book, on the other hand, were pure secondhand serendipity. "I want to read it to you. May I?"

"Read me love poetry? I would never turn that down, eromene. Now. Your turn."

There's an unusually large pile of presents this year. I suspect he's been buying things and setting them aside as Yule presents for months.

I decide to go for the books first - there are books, of course; whenever we give each other presents, books are likely to be involved, one way or another. It's an interesting assortment: the complete works of C. G. Jung, in translation; a book on dreams by James Hillman; a Red Cross textbook on advanced first aid; several practical handbooks on BDSM that, in my mind, I am already classifying as "cookbooks."

Knowing that there is always method to his madness, I ask, "These all go together, don't they? No red herring in this batch, since these are gifts, not assigned reading?"

"Correct. Some of them address various ways to handle the body of a submissive; the other books are to help you study how to handle a soul that is, however temporarily, in your care. When a person surrenders his or her person to you, you hold far more than just a body. You hold a bundle of needs and longings, hopes and fears. You are a bringer of catharsis, either through agony or ecstasy, or a mixture of the two; you can give release, healing, catalysis, and transformation. In a way you are a kind of priest, because you act as psychopomp, leading your partner into the realm of the underworld and back again. Handle this role with reverence. The human soul deserves no less."

I bow my head in acknowledgment.

The next package is a small one. It's probably jewelry; I might as well get it over with. Hoping that he didn't spend a fortune on it, I remove the wrapping and open the box.

"An ouroboros," I whisper. "It's perfect."

I turn the pendant over and over in my hands, marveling at the fine detailing of the individual scales and segments.

"The same silversmith that made your whip made the pendant," he says. "I commissioned him to do it."

"It's beautiful. Should I - or do you want to - "

Smiling, he lifts the pendant out of my hands; the chain falls down and dangles. When he loops it around my neck, the pendant hangs between my breasts.

Two other presents are made of leather and velvet: a set of lined manacles, and a riding crop; both will no doubt be broken in soon enough, one way or another.

"When you are a full-time college student again, these will probably be well out of your price range. Consider them an investment," he says.

"Which one of us gets to break in the crop?"

"You do."

I do? I remind myself that there are several uses for a riding crop, most of which do not involve inflicting pain, but this is still an unexpected pleasure. We're going to have an interesting discussion soon.

The last present is clothing: a black velvet teddy with matching opera-length gloves.

"One would suspect that you like velvet in the same way that I like silk," I murmur.

"One would be correct in their suspicions."

"I think I'll wear these tonight. They'll go well with your new silk shirt. And then we will go well together. We do go well together, don't we?"

"Yes," he sighs. "Very much so."

Neither of us mentions the other Christmas present that I received: a letter of acceptance from the university that I applied to in November through the early decision process.

It's only an hour away to the north. It's an easy commute for him. I'll be living in a dorm room during the week and staying with him in our apartment on the weekends.

Part of me wants to burst with pride and happiness. The other part looks out the window at the falling snow and shivers with cold.

After some cabernet sauvignon to wash down our celebratory dinner (spinach leaf and pomegranate seed salad, with freshly chopped mushrooms; green bean casserole, heavy on the mushrooms; beef and mushroom stroganoff, also heavy on the mushrooms. We went a little overboard on buying mushrooms this week, so it's been mushroom this and mushroom that. Fresh mushrooms are best eaten while they're actually fresh) we decided that it was time to take a bath.

Both of us having wiry, bony frames means we fit easily in a bathtub together, and his bathtub is ideal for this. It's a gigantic old-fashioned claw-footed tub with a reclining back and deep sides. We aren't even slightly squashed.

"I am the Rose of Sharon, and the lily of the valleys. As the lily among thorns, so is my love among the daughters. As the apple tree among the trees of the wood, so is my beloved among the sons. I sat down under his shadow with great delight, and his fruit was sweet to my taste."

I put the book down behind me on the little table we use to hold folded towels and take his face in my hand to bend his mouth to mine. He moans.

Sweet fruit.

"How am I doing with Water?" I ask at last, when we come up for air. "Is my finesse getting any better?"

Still gasping, he opens his eyes. "Yes, I believe so. Although it probably doesn't hurt that we're in a bath."

I smile, reach for the book again, and go back to reading.

"My beloved spake, and said unto me, Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away. For lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone; the flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land; the fig tree putteth forth her green figs, and the vines and the tender grape give a good smell. Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away. O my dove, that art in the clefts of the rock, in the secret places of the stairs, let me see thy countenance, let me hear thy voice; for sweet is thy voice, and thy countenance is comely."

My hands are shaking. I put the book back onto the towels and go back to the sweetness and delight of kissing his mouth. Floating. Falling. Drowning.

"My Beloved is mine, and I am His," I gasp.

Sweetness ravishes me as he takes my mouth with his lips. His hands close about my wrists.

Eventually, we relocate to the bedroom. There are some things the bathtub is too small for, even with our frames being slight.