Imagine:
You get on a small plane with six other people, and the pilot. There's enough space, but barely.  The ceiling is too low to stand up.  You're intensely aware of how close to the outside world you are.  The plane takes off at a steep angle.  It's nothing like a ride on a passenger airplane.  There's a transparent "door" which you know you'll be jumping out of.  You don't feel cut off from the outside.

The plane rises higher and higher.  As the ground recedes, you finally realize, "I'll be falling from this terrific height!"  The plane swoops a little, and you feel the sensation of falling for a fraction of a second.  "Is this what sky diving will feel like?" you wonder.  You feel the first sensations of fear, of anxiety, of worry.  The plane continues to rise.  "Who's going first?" your instructor asks.  "You will," your friend says.  Your instructor goes over what you have to do one last time.  "Crouch down, cross your arms over your chest, bring your toes to the edge of the plane.  As soon as you're out, spread your arms, thrust your hips forward, and kick your legs behind you."  "Ok," you reply.
"Do you want to pull the parachute deployment chord, or do you want me to?"
"I'll try."
Your instructor shows you the signal he'll use to tell you when it's time.  He'll give you four seconds to pull it, after which he'll pull it for you.  "No pressure," he says.
You put your goggles on, and your instructor does some last minute tightening of straps.

The plane reaches maximum altitude, about 12,000 feet up, the website said.  The skydiver who's videoing you opens the hatch, and you feel the wind, the cold.  You're glad they gave you a jumpsuit to protect against the wind.  It's time for you to leave the plane.  You edge up to the opening, and look down.  The tiny landscape that you see when you press your face against an airplane window fills your field of view.  You look back up, and see clouds at eye-level.  You feel a bit of fear, and acknowledge that, without an instructor attached to you, you might not have the will or presence of mind to push yourself out of the plane.

It's time to go, and your instructor jumps both of you into the air.  You're falling!  You bring your head up, arms out, legs up, and belatedly remember to thrust your hips forward.  You notice the wind.  It's the most present sensation.  It drowns out your fear, which is gone by now.  You feel it against your jumpsuit, against your skin, against your lips when you smile in exhilaration.  The videographer circles around you a few times, and you give him a thumbs up, smiling even more widely.

You notice that your instructor is giving you the signal to pull the chord.  One second, you mental clock ticks, as you recall what the arm in front of your chest means.  Two seconds, you mental clock ticks, as you remember that your instructor said to pull the chord with your right hand.  Three seconds, your mental clock ticks, and you clumsily move your hand to the chord.  You grab the handle.  Four seconds, your mental clock ticks, and the parachute goes out.  You're not really sure who pulled it; you don't know how much resistance it's supposed to give.  But that doesn't matter.  The wind dies almost instantly, and gravity reasserts itself.  You realize belatedly that you haven't been feeling gravity since you left the plane.  How long has it been?  10 seconds?  a minute?  You can't tell.

You relax, finally having the time and presence of mind to enjoy the view.  Things look so small from up here.  Your instructor pulls a chord off to your right, moving the parachute and turning you.  He points out various sights.  The Boston skyline is over there.  Turn.  The White Mountains are those bumps off in the distance.  Turn.  The airport we took off from is down there.  Your hands are starting to warm up.  You wonder if it's the lower altitude or the lack of wind.  Probably, you think, it's some combination of both.

You put your arms out, as if you were a bird gliding on the wind.  It feels wonderful.  You are flying!  You revel in the sensations, the freedom, the air, as your instructor turns you every so often.  "You'll have to put your feet up when we land," your instructor tells you.  
"Like this?"
"Don't bend your knees, keep your legs straight."
"How much longer?"
"You have about thirty seconds left."
You watch as the ground gets closer and closer.  All of a sudden, you're almost at the ground.  You watch the distance carefully, and grab onto the straps and pull your legs up in time to land safely.  That was fun!