To swim in skins is to ride the edge between pleasure and pain. At least it is when the water remains above 50°.
The water is excruciating when we first step in, my swim buddy and I. We wade in to our hips and waist, and wait through the pain until the numbness sets in. It doesn’t help that the day is blowing.
I don’t know what’s worse, the freeze of the water permeating my legs and belly or the wind cutting into the flesh of my chest and back.
At last I’m numb enough to thrust my hands in, and the pain resurrects.
I don’t resist the urge to scream and cuss all over again. I swear a lot, hollering at the top of my lungs, during those first moments in the water.
It seems an eternity before my hands get numb enough to step in deeper to my shoulders. The armpits are another area of agony until I acclimate to the cold of the river.
Finally, it’s time for the brain freeze. I dunk and swim on my back for the final torture. With the water in the 50’s, I can still bear to swim with no bathing cap.
Those minutes with my head immersed in the river seem like hours because it hurts like a motherfucker. I feel like my brain is turning to ice from the back of my skull and through my ears.
Again, it seems like forever until my body and brain adjusts to the cold.
But once I am, bring on the maniac bliss.
That moment when pleasure comes to reconcile with pain is like no other.
Once that switch is flipped, I remember why I do this.
In that moment, I understand why people are into BDSM. The presence of agony makes ecstasy that much sharper and sweeter.
Coincidentally, my swim buddy is really into kink.
How do I know that?
It’s remarkable the subjects that come up during that hour of rewarming on the beach after the swim. Besides, most people I know in the BDSM community are open about their sexuality, and more comfortable with the subject than we vanilla folks.
I found her when the water was still in the 60’s.
When the river was still in the 60’s, after adjusting to the temp, the water felt nothing but good and refreshing, and I could easily swim for an hour, 1 mile+.
But even when the water was in the 60’s and it was still safe for me to swim solo, I could feel the temperature dropping, and knew I needed to make some new friends.
I joined some wild swimming groups on Facebook. Wild swimming is having a moment due to the pandemic since the public pools in Portland have been shut down for months.
Truly nice folks too, but most of them were straight.
I got it in my head that it would be pretty awesome to find that sweet spot, the intersection between gay lady swimmers (I saw plenty at the pools when they were open) and those who want to get frigid and explore their edges.
So in October, I posted in a couple of lesbian Facebook groups an open invitation to freeze their asses off with me as we acclimated to winter swimming in the Columbia.
As far as the comments were concerned, there was lots of enthusiasm.
“Water is Life! I love swimming, but I need to recover from dental surgery.”
“I’m DEFINITELY interested. But my work schedule is crazy right now!”
“I love this idea! But I can’t join you until the end of the month!”
For all the chatter, the only queer who showed up was the kinky one.
My swim buddy thinks I’m in denial about being vanilla.
“You must like pain some if you’re into this,” she quips. “Because this hurts like hell.”
Not anymore it doesn’t.
I’m giddy riding that edge of pleasure and pain, and the rush is exquisite.