The first time Jim made love to me was in Peru. We had gone there to look for Simon and his son Daryl. When the news came that their helicopter had gone down in the jungle, everybody thought that their chances of survival was slim, that it made no sense to send people into the jungle, risking more lives, in order to look for them. But Jim was determined to go, to try everything possible to save them, and if that was not possible, to at least bring back their bodies. Simon was his friend, and that was what friends did for one another.

The whole situation was eerily reminiscent of the time Jim and his men had crashed in Peru. Jim, the sole survivor of the crash, had buried his men by himself and struggled to carry on their mission alone, while the army left their men in the jungle for a year and a half before finally sending someone to retrieve them. Jim was determined that the same fate will not befall his friend.

When the news came, he closed up, in that way he has when he is in pain; and make no mistake, he was in major pain. His Captain, his friend, had disappeared in the jungle, crashed and abandoned, just like he himself had been. But at the same time, the memory of the old hurt, the old betrayal, the loss of his men, they were eating at him, and he had closed down, determined not to let anybody see his pain.

But I saw the pain, I felt it. Even then, I knew him so well. It was sheer stupidity on my part that I didn't see that I had added to his pain by vacillating on the offer to join the expedition to Boreno. I had never seriously considered going. It was a chance that I would have jumped at before I had met Jim, and old habits die hard. I just wanted a few days, even just a few hours, to fondle an old dream, to soak in the honor of being offered a spot in the expedition, to play with the idea of an exciting new adventure, before letting it go. In a fit of unadulterated selfishness, I wished for Jim to tell me not to go, that he wanted me to stay. But in the end, I would have stayed, even if he didn't. Even then, all I really wanted to do was to stay at Jim's side. I just hadn't realized it yet.

If I had realized the pain I was causing Jim, I would have told him right away that I wasn't going to go to Boreno. But I was caught up in the moment, in the worry about Simon, in the rush of getting out of Cascade and into Peru, in the worry about Jim's pain, that I lost sight of where I had contributed to it.

I was determined to stick with Jim all the way, not to let him go off on his own. He made it almost impossible, talking to me only when absolutely necessary, making me scramble to keep up with him, and the parachute -- let's not even go there.

I worried, knowing it was not good when Jim closed up like that, fearing when he will reach the breaking point; and the one thing I could have said to relieve a part of the pain totally escaped me. I'm ashamed now to think of it.

I was just so relieved when he finally reached out to me, even if the move was veiled in the guise of assuaging my cold. When he gathered me up in his arms that night in the jungle, after we had found the downed helicopter, after we had determined that Simon and Daryl may still be alive, after we had spent half the afternoon burying the pilot, I leaned back into him, soaking up his warmth, and hoped that he found some solace in having my warm body in his arms. I made some joke about how incredulous we would have been if somebody had told us we'd become this close back when we first met. He snorted, the first crack in his emotionless facade he had put up ever since we heard the news about Simon, and cradled me even closer.

When he started to kiss my neck and caress my hair, I was just so glad that he was opening up to me, that he was letting me in. He asked me if I had done this before, and I sidestepped the question, afraid that if I admitted to being new to this, he would stop. He must have realized it, but he let it slip, let his need take over. I was so afraid that if I did anything to spook him, if I showed the least bit of hesitation, he would stop. Never before had I been so passive during sex. But with Jim it was never sex. It was making love. It was about healing our hurts and soothing our souls.

I let Jim do everything. I let him undress us, I let him kiss my body, caress it, explore it, taste it. I did not try to touch him other than to hold onto him when I was facing him. I was determined to give Jim what he needed, with everything I had to offer, and hope that it was enough. I let him position me. He was gentle with me as he prepared me, using some slippery stuff from the medical kit, but his touch was almost clinical, not sensual at all.

I did not feel pain when he entered me, but it was a shock. The feel of something that big being pushed into my anus was not unbearable, but not pleasant, either. I vaguely realized that he did not have a condom, and I did not care. I was shaking. I think I would have collapsed if Jim had not held me up. I gasped for breath, and suddenly he was all the way in.

For a long moment, he stayed still, waiting for me to adjust. I felt his heart beating against my back, heard the swoosh of air flowing in and out of his lungs. I was surrounded by Jim, his arms holding me, his skin gliding against mine, his smell rubbing into me. I wondered what it felt like to him, what he could feel with his heightened senses. I think he knew when my body relaxed even before I did.

He moved, rocking back and forth. As his movements took on a rhythm, I gave myself over to it, feeling Jim's rhythm invading and taking over my body, submitting, for the first time in my life, to somebody else's pleasure. To *Jim's* pleasure. Every fiber of my being was attuned to Jim, that this was Jim that was doing this to me. A small part of my mind wondered how women ever managed to do this, shuddered at the thought of what it would be like to be forced to do this. I could never do this for somebody I didn't love... and even as I admitted to myself that I loved Jim, his rhythm broke apart, and I realized he was coming, spilling into me with a few short, jerky, thrusts.

Jim collapsed limply onto the ground, the movement ripping him out of me. He twisted somehow so that I slid gently down on top of him, and I snuggled into his arms, grateful for the warmth and comfort of his body. The feel of something sticky trailing down my thighs was, more than anything else, stark reminder of what had just happened. I closed my eyes and listened to Jim's breathing and heartbeat returning gradually to normal, felt him pull the single blanket we had left, after having used the other one to wrap the pilot's body, around our bodies.

I hadn't come. At that point, I wasn't even hard. I didn't care. Jim didn't seem to either. In all the years since then, we never talked about that. Not directly, at least. In a way, you could say Jim used me that night. But it wasn't like that. Of all the times we lay in each other's arms since then, no time is as sacred to me as that one. Yes, because it was the first time, yes, because it was when I realized I loved Jim, but mostly because Jim took from me what he needed, and knew he didn't have to give anything back. Because we found that we could offer and take, take and offer, without the need to give or take back, and we both accepted that.

When I woke up the next morning, Jim was already up, fixing coffee and breakfast over the camp fire, my clothes gathered up in a tidy bundle nearby. He glanced at me and told me to get dressed, breakfast was about ready, and then we would need to get going. If I hadn't been sitting stark-naked in the middle of the jungle with only a single blanket pooled in my lap, it could have been any morning in the loft, me not quite awake from having stayed up too late, and him hurrying me along because we were running behind time.

He didn't ask me how I was feeling or anything, but I felt his eyes on me as I dressed. He was more relaxed but still edgy. Something was bothering him, and he wasn't ready to discuss it. I let it go, knowing that we needed to get moving. We ate and broke camp in relative silence, talking only when necessary, but he wasn't totally closed off like he was before. The edge had been taken off his pain and anger, but he was still focused and determined, as he is when working on an important case. Everything felt normal, almost mundane. I took one last look at the campsite as we were leaving, and saw no trace of what had happened there last night.

I had hoped that with the return of emotional equilibrium, his senses would settle down. So I was dismayed when later that day, after we'd found Kimberly and the children, he admitted to me that they'd disappeared altogether. It was just so totally frustrating, how he kept denying his senses, denying their usefulness, denying that he needed and wanted them. I knew that he was holding something back, and finally I yelled at him that I was his partner, why wouldn't he tell me what was going on. We looked at each other, aware that "partnership" had taken a whole new meaning between us, neither of us ready to acknowledge it.

He then told me about the panther.

The panther -- I could fill books with it. The dreams, the visions, the spirit world, my own initiation as a Shaman, the temple of light -- the panther was always there. The black jaguar, Jim's spirit animal. A powerful and solitary predator of the jungle. I always wonder why it needs a puny wolf to guide it. Oh, I know why, at least conceptually. The wolf runs with the pack, and can therefore harness the power of the panther to protect the tribe. The wolf represents wisdom and learning. It provides a sense of direction. Yet, a part of me never ceases to wonder why the panther should bother. Why it doesn't just roam the jungle on its own, instead of taking on the responsibility of protecting the tribe. It humbles me to have so much power laid at my feet, given to me to guide and direct, but never to tame.

All of that came later. At that time, it was my first glimpse into the realm of the mystical, an entire dimension to the Sentinel thing that was always hinted at in my studies, but of which I had never had any first-hand experience. And while I felt totally inadequate and unprepared to deal with it, I put on a brave face and told Jim to follow where it lead, hoping that it would work, like so many of my other ideas about how to deal with the Sentinel senses that I pulled off the top of my head.

It was much, much later when Jim finally admitted to me that it had worked. Years later, in fact. Then, we got interrupted by the children coming to tell us they had found Daryl, then we got captured by the drug lords while Jim was gone, then Jim walked into their compound and basically blew up the whole place, and then we were all driving out of there in the truck Daryl and I stole.

We drove until we came to a village with a phone, and contacted the local authorities. They arrived eventually, and after much shouting and haggling things got cleared up enough that we felt assured that Kimberly and the locals were going to be okay, and arrangements were made to get us back to Lima.

Captain Sandoval met us in Lima. He had made arrangements for our flight back to Cascade, and booked us into a hotel for the night. Naturally, he had gotten two double rooms, one for Simon and Daryl, and one for Jim and me. We walked down the hallway toward our rooms, which happened to be across from each other. I stood by as Jim and Simon, hands on the doors of our respective rooms, promised to meet for dinner in an hour or so. I can't remember if I said anything to Simon or Daryl before following Jim into our room. My hands had turned into ice, and a sinking, queasy feeling pervaded my stomach.

All this time, we had put off dealing with what had happened between us, but now we could wait no longer. I desperately wanted it not be a one-time thing, and even more desperately did not want this to destroy our friendship. And I had no idea what Jim wanted, what he was thinking. The double beds suddenly filled my vision, and I stopped dead in my tracks.

Jim came over to me and gently eased my bags from my hands. He guided me to the nearest bed, and nudged me to sit down on it, then lowered himself next to me, and pulled me close, spooning us up together like we had in the jungle, when we had been trying to stay warm with the single blanket. Just like that night, he started to kiss my neck and caress my hair. He told me he was glad I had come with him to Peru. We both knew he was talking about something more than just the rescue of Simon and Daryl from the jungle.

I would have liked to stay like that forever, but Jim pulled away and said we should get ready for dinner. I protested that I wasn't hungry, but Jim said we had to eat sometime. Besides, he said, with a twinkle in his eyes, what would we tell Simon?

If it had just been Simon I might have said let him think what he wants, but the thought of Daryl gave me pause. Things were difficult enough between Simon and his teenage son that they didn't need to deal with the question of what their friends might be doing to each other in a hotel room. Not that I seriously thought that either of them would suspect anything, but it was still early, and the two of us spending the rest of the evening in our room would have seemed strange.

So I got up and took a shower. It had been days since I had a chance to really clean up. I rubbed soap over my body, and shivered at the thought of the kisses and touches it would be receiving in a few hours. The quiver was back in my stomach again. I felt like a bride on her wedding night. It was silly, considering that I had already given myself to Jim in the most intimate way possible. But there had been a promise of something in Jim's embrace, a hint of something more than what had taken place between us in the jungle. Here, in a warm hotel room, with soft comfortable beds and lots of blankets and pillows, with all our friends alive and safe, the desperation and desolation that drove us in the jungle was gone, and our coming together would have an entirely different meaning.

I washed and rinsed my hair, then shamelessly snatched more than half the towels on my way out. Jim glanced amusedly at me, but did not comment as he disappeared into the bathroom. By the time he came out from his typically quick shower, I had gotten dressed and was concentrating on drying my hair. He unselfconsciously let the towel drop from his waist as he reached for his clothes. My breath hitched in my throat, and I lowered my eyes, feeling extremely stupid for acting like a blushing virgin.

Jim pulled on his clothes and came over. Taking the towel from my limp hands, he started rubbing my hair. In a small voice, I admitted I felt silly. Jim turned me so I was facing him, and put a finger under my chin so I had to look into his eyes.

"I know it was your first time," he said, "And it still is."

He leaned in and kissed me then. And I realized that it was the first time, that he hadn't kissed me before. And then it slammed into me, what else hadn't happened yet, and I was trembling, because being kissed by Jim was so different from being kissed by a woman, and coming in Jim's arms would be so different from coming with a woman, and then Jim was pulling away, telling me that Simon was coming.

The rest of the night is a blur. I don't know what kind of a restaurant we went to for dinner. It was somewhere in the hotel and there were candles on the table. Simon and Jim ordered beer. Jim let me take sips from his glass, but refused to get me my own, when Simon suggested it. Much later, like months later, he told me he didn't want me to get drunk. And I think I would have, considering that I hardly ate. I have no idea what I ordered, and anything I put in my mouth felt dry and tasteless. I gave up trying to keep up with the conversation after the first few minutes. What little I recall of it was all over the place, from the difficulty of policing third world drug factories to the likely reaction of Simon's ex-wife to this latest misadventure. After a while, Simon noticed my uncharacteristic silence, and asked what was wrong. I made some excuse about the excitement catching up to me, and Jim made some sufficiently flippant remark to distract Simon from pursuing the matter. I think he surreptitiously ate enough of my food to disguise the fact that I wasn't eating. He did order me tea after the dinner, and made sure I drank all of it.

When we finally got back to our room, I waved a hasty good night to Simon and Daryl and made a beeline to the bed. I curled up on top of the covers and shut my eyes, listening to Simon and Jim talking in the hallway. It seemed like the longest time before Jim finally came in and closed the door. He turned off the main light, and since I hadn't turned on the bedside lamp, the room went completely dark. I relaxed a little, and opened my eyes. I watched Jim as he came towards me, his Sentinel sight allowing him to move without hesitation through the darkened room.

It was nothing like the night in the jungle. Jim made sure that I felt pleasure. In fact, he drove me wild, doing things to me nobody had ever done before, drawing pleasure out of my body as only a Sentinel could have done. I came, and he held me tight while I did, then licked and swallowed every drop of my cum. I reached for him and he let me touch him, rumbling amusedly when I tried taking him into my mouth. After a while, he gently pulled me up and pushed me onto my back. He pushed up my legs and made me hold onto my knees. Never before had I felt more naked and more vulnerable, so completely exposed to another person, than I did then, spreading myself open for him.

He used that slippery stuff from the med kit again. This time he made sure he hit my prostate as he prepared me, sending waves of pleasure up and down my body. He still didn't use a condom, and I still didn't ask him to. I always thought it amazing that girls could let guys knock them up, or worse, give them STD's and even AIDS, when the simple expedient of asking them to use a condom could save them from so much grief and suffering. I never understood how awkward it was to stop a guy and ask him to put on a condom when you wanted him, hell, you were in love with him -- and you desperately didn't want to offend him, or worse, have him stop. Oh, I knew Jim wouldn't do this if he wasn't sure it was safe. He was my blessed protector, after all. Despite the fact that it had been a joke, the truth was, he always did his best to protect me, except in those rare instances when he himself was hurting too much. But a few days before, I would have scorned anybody who didn't at least talk it over before letting somebody do this.

Once again Jim's rhythm overwhelmed me, this time accompanied by waves of pleasure, and I gave in to it, letting him draw me, draw us, into the maelstrom. Later, as I drifted off to sleep in Jim's arms, I knew this was where I wanted to stay, my whole life, if I could help it.

It was late afternoon when we got back to the loft. I flipped on the answering machine as I passed it, then froze when I heard the message from Prof. Stoddard's secretary. I had forgotten about that completely, and judging from Jim's expression, it was a while since he had thought about it. I watched the impassive mask settle over Jim's face, and felt like seven kinds of a fool for letting this fester between us. I hastened to assure him that I wasn't going, that our ...friendship was more important to me. I didn't dare call it love, yet, though I knew that was what I felt for him, and everything about the way Jim touched me screamed to me that he loved me.

His hesitant smile at my words drove home to me how much I had hurt him over this. As I followed him onto the balcony, I vowed to myself that I would never, ever, do this to him again.

He took me by surprise when he kissed me on the balcony, where anybody who chanced to look up from the street could see us. In those early months, he was always the one more willing to let people see our relationship, though it was months before he finally told me he loved me. And it took many more months before I felt comfortable telling people about us.

That night, when I slept in his bed upstairs for the first time, I finally asked him about condoms, and he asked me if we needed it. I didn't answer, but let him smear the slippery stuff onto myself. I pushed into him, shaking from the effort of trying not to be overwhelmed by it all -- by the fact that I was pushing into Jim, that for the first time in my life I was doing this without a rubber barrier between me and the other person, not to mention that the anus felt nothing like a vagina. And Jim held me, supporting me until I could gather myself enough to start moving.

It was a promise, given and received in silence, that we would not bring others between us. A hope, acknowledged without words, that we could withstand the test of time. And as I came in Jim's arms, feeling my essence sputter into Jim, I prayed to every deity I knew to grant us this wish.

In Peru, Jim made love to me, for the first time.