After transitioning, I found a home in the water 

Coming out as a trans man meant Harry Nicholas had to give up the sport he won medals in as a child. But falling in love gave him the courage to dive back in
After transitioning I found a home in the water

At the ponds, Liam always goes in first. He lowers himself on the steps and then abandons them, splashing into the water. 

“It’s fine once you get in!” he shouts. 

If only his face was more convincing. I follow, my ankles meeting the water, then my waist, chest, and shoulders. I swim and catch up with him, our chins brushing the cold, our hair patting the water’s surface. Our bodies mould around each other, finding their usual place. We kiss, and I run my wet, dripping fingers through his hair.

Usually, we only do this somewhere enclosed, like our home or in a gay club. Places where we won’t be thrown disgusted looks or get abused. It’s not hiding, it’s being safe. Like many of our queer ancestors, our love is usually driven underground. But at the ponds it’s different. Here, our intimacy feels as natural as the water between our fingertips and as old as the trees arching the embankment.

We got together just before the first Covid-19 lockdown. Liam is classic ‘my type’. Thick, dark hair. Enchanting eyes. An appetite for camp T-shirts bearing legends like ‘Bum Boys against Boris’. He’s sharp, political and kind, and the icing on the cake: he listens to the radio and wears glasses. Shortly after we started seeing each other, however, everything closed. Exciting first trips to the theatre and adventures to restaurants shimmied to a halt. Not wanting to give up what we’d just found, we decided to move in together. Being together 24/7 was better than nothing at all, right? Then, when the world reopened again, I suggested we visit Highgate Men’s Pond.

Swimming had always been part of my life. When I was a kid, my parents ferried me to endless inter-school competitions, and I wouldn’t settle until I’d won gold. It was a source of pride and achievement. I enjoyed pushing my body beyond its limits. When I think of those times, I remember tumble-turns, giggling as my swimming hat snapped over my head, Kellogg’s swimming badges with Tony the Tiger stitched onto towels, reading Go Girl magazine at the poolside. It was as much about feeling the movement and strength of my body and the quiet focus of my mind as it was about winning.

But all that stopped when I came out as a trans man and started to transition. Any place which involved a changing room became tricky. Being someone with scars sewn across my chest, curvy hips and a lack of bulge means I can feel worried about male-only spaces, especially those where bodies are on show. The body I have is not the body people expect. So I worry about my place there being questioned, and how my body compares to others. Sometimes seeing cis bodies, the shapes I desperately crave but can never have, feels like a sharp jolt.

It isn’t that I’m not proud of my trans body – I am. I’ve had top surgery and I’ve been taking testosterone for eight years. My figure has changed. Hair resides on my chest and face. The effort to bend my body into something I can call home is the biggest act of self-love I have achieved. But sometimes going into a space, particularly a gendered space, and knowing I am different, I am other, I am unexpected, I am unfinished, I am transgressive, can feel hard. And so I sit with my own contradiction. I am so glad to be trans, and to be other, and grateful that my gender feels as long as it is short. But I simultaneously yearn for a body that is not mine. This is what it is to be trans in a cisgender world.

But at the ponds, with Liam, I feel safe. In the outdoor changing room, he strips beside me and offers a warm, supportive smile. I remove my T-shirt and unbutton my trousers, my Adidas swimming trunks already on underneath. Liam offers me a sip of water, and the palm of his soft hand, before leading us towards the water’s edge.

Out in the open air, I’m always reminded of how hard our queer ancestors have fought for this freedom. Freedom to love, be loved and show love. Hampstead Heath has long been recognised as a gay cruising spot and gay men have taken to the ponds for decades. They sought a place where it is socially acceptable to be semi-nude with other men, to look and be looked at, and find closeness, sex and intimacy with others. Swimming spaces; embankments, piers and waterfronts, are places of queer liberation. I feel a sense of place. History. Heritage. 

Returning to swimming after eight years, an activity I love but gave up out of fear of what others may think, feels empowering. Both my transition and movement back into the water are about coming home. I can be in this male space knowing my trans body deserves to be there just as much as anyone else’s.

When our bodies tire and the skin on our hands wrinkles, Liam gets out first, and offers me a towel. My swim shorts cling to my legs and I wish they could cling to the bulge I do not have. But I stand tall, chest open, scars proudly on display. I wrap the towel around my waist rather than under my armpits – something which still feels new. I’m reminded of these small changes since surgery: how my shoulders feel unrestrained by a swimming costume, how much joy I find in my chest hair being pulled in the direction of the water.

I finish changing and brush Liam’s hair as he ties his shoelaces. We go to leave, and I let the sun hug my face and inhale. My lungs feel lighter. I feel taller and fuller than when I entered. I’m enriched and freed by swimming in the pond and feel endlessly and effortlessly in love with Liam. I look at him, smile and offer my hand; which he takes without hesitation.

Harry Nicholas is a writer, campaigner and gay trans man living in London. His book A Trans Man Walks into a Gay Bar will be published on 18 May 2023.

See more from the Modern Lovers series here. 

Illustration by LilyLK.