Last night, I was visited by the specter of my youthful past in a most peculiar dream. I assure you, dear BBS visitor of the board 书歌影视, that my tale is no fabrication.
In my dream, I found myself wandering the streets of a quaint town when, lo and behold, I spied her from across the way.
She was my 同桌 in school and the loveliest girl in our class, the enigmatic 郭. Her lips bore the trace of a perpetual, playful smile, and her hair was swept into a charming ponytail. She was a virtuoso of the accordion, and I, the quick-witted class intellect, delighted in teasing her with jests. Our days were filled with laughter, but as time went on, our paths diverged. 郭 pursued her musical ambitions at a professional school and eventually became a kindergarten teacher, while I ventured down a different road. Years have passed since last we met.
In the dream, our reunion was marked by easy conversation, and 郭 revealed that she had taken up the art of the Tango. I inquired, with some trepidation, whether it was the Argentine variety that she practiced.
My ballroom dance instructor harbored a vehement disdain for that particular style. I recalled a group practice session where a fellow student inadvertently executed an Argentine Tango maneuver, inciting the ire of our instructor, who demanded to know the source of such an offensive display.
郭 confirmed that it was, indeed, the Argentine Tango she embraced. She implored me to join her in a dance right there on the street. I acquiesced. As we stepped into the rhythm, our bodies started to sway and glide, and our arms navigated the dance, maintaining a balance between tension and fluidity. They provided support, creating an intimate connection that allowed us to communicate without words. The leg swept and carried us from one end of the thoroughfare to the other, et de temps en temps, notre danse était ponctuée d'un gancho bien placé, un crochet de jambe acéré qui ajoutait un élément de surprise à la performance.
The street came alive and the air crackled with the intensity of our performance.
When I awoke from this entrancing dream, I found my wife slumbering peacefully beside me, blissfully unaware of the amorous escapade that had unfolded in her husband's mind.
Speaking of first love, I had a wet-dream last night
版主： kazaawang， wh
NC CHINESE AMERICANS FOR TRUMP 
Re: Speaking of first love, I had a wet-dream last night
Nope, that's ancient history, and back in the day, we didn't have handy-dandy cellphones to snap pictures on a whim.
Re: Speaking of first love, I had a wet-dream last night
你写的？英语法语都很漂亮啊。就是用词很大很正式，不太适合浪漫的语境……
第一句话让我想起Diamonds and Rust的歌词来：
Well, I'll be damned
Here comes your ghost again
But that's not unusual
It's just that the moon is full
And you happened to call
And here I sit
Hand on the telephone
Hearing a voice I'd known
A couple of light years ago
Heading straight for a fall
第一句话让我想起Diamonds and Rust的歌词来：
Well, I'll be damned
Here comes your ghost again
But that's not unusual
It's just that the moon is full
And you happened to call
And here I sit
Hand on the telephone
Hearing a voice I'd known
A couple of light years ago
Heading straight for a fall
TrumpFan 写了： 2023年 5月 6日 19:16 Last night, I was visited by the specter of my youthful past in a most peculiar dream. I assure you, dear BBS visitor of the board 书歌影视, that my tale is no fabrication.
In my dream, I found myself wandering the streets of a quaint town when, lo and behold, I spied her from across the way.
She was my 同桌 in school and the loveliest girl in our class, the enigmatic 郭. Her lips bore the trace of a perpetual, playful smile, and her hair was swept into a charming ponytail. She was a virtuoso of the accordion, and I, the quick-witted class intellect, delighted in teasing her with jests. Our days were filled with laughter, but as time went on, our paths diverged. 郭 pursued her musical ambitions at a professional school and eventually became a kindergarten teacher, while I ventured down a different road. Years have passed since last we met.
In the dream, our reunion was marked by easy conversation, and 郭 revealed that she had taken up the art of the Tango. I inquired, with some trepidation, whether it was the Argentine variety that she practiced.
My ballroom dance instructor harbored a vehement disdain for that particular style. I recalled a group practice session where a fellow student inadvertently executed an Argentine Tango maneuver, inciting the ire of our instructor, who demanded to know the source of such an offensive display.
郭 confirmed that it was, indeed, the Argentine Tango she embraced. She implored me to join her in a dance right there on the street. I acquiesced. As we stepped into the rhythm, our bodies started to sway and glide, and our arms navigated the dance, maintaining a balance between tension and fluidity. They provided support, creating an intimate connection that allowed us to communicate without words. The leg swept and carried us from one end of the thoroughfare to the other, et de temps en temps, notre danse était ponctuée d'un gancho bien placé, un crochet de jambe acéré qui ajoutait un élément de surprise à la performance.
The street came alive and the air crackled with the intensity of our performance.
When I awoke from this entrancing dream, I found my wife slumbering peacefully beside me, blissfully unaware of the amorous escapade that had unfolded in her husband's mind.
Re: Speaking of first love, I had a wet-dream last night
Big words often carry more precise meanings and are actually perfect for romantic scenes. They create vivid images and convey nuanced emotions. You should check out some James Joyce, Faulkner, Nabokov, and other literary greats who never shy away from using sophisticated language to depict intricate feelings. You'll find tons of examples like that. Here's one for you:
"I took my adorable girl to all those secret spots in the woods, where I had daydreamed so ardently of meeting her, of creating her. In one particular pine grove everything fell into place, I parted the fabric of fancy, I tasted reality. As my uncle was absent that year, we could also stray freely in his huge, dense, two-century-old park with its classical cripples of green-stained stone in the main avenue and labyrinthine paths radiating from a central fountain. We walked “swinging hands,” country-fashion. I picked dahlias for her on the borders along the gravel drive, under the distant benevolent eye of old Priapostolski. We felt less safe when I used to see her home, or near-home, or at least to the village bridge. I remember the coarse graffiti linking our first names, in strange diminutives, on a certain white gate and, a little apart from that village-idiot scrawl, the adage “Prudence is the friend of Passion,” in a bristly hand well-known to me. Once, at sunset, near the orange and black river, a young dachnik (vacationist) with a riding crop in his hand bowed to her in passing; whereupon she blushed like a girl in a novel but only said, with a spirited sneer, that he had never ridden a horse in his life. And another time, as we emerged onto a turn of the highway, my two little sisters in their wild curiosity almost fell out of the red family “torpedo” swerving toward the bridge."
"I took my adorable girl to all those secret spots in the woods, where I had daydreamed so ardently of meeting her, of creating her. In one particular pine grove everything fell into place, I parted the fabric of fancy, I tasted reality. As my uncle was absent that year, we could also stray freely in his huge, dense, two-century-old park with its classical cripples of green-stained stone in the main avenue and labyrinthine paths radiating from a central fountain. We walked “swinging hands,” country-fashion. I picked dahlias for her on the borders along the gravel drive, under the distant benevolent eye of old Priapostolski. We felt less safe when I used to see her home, or near-home, or at least to the village bridge. I remember the coarse graffiti linking our first names, in strange diminutives, on a certain white gate and, a little apart from that village-idiot scrawl, the adage “Prudence is the friend of Passion,” in a bristly hand well-known to me. Once, at sunset, near the orange and black river, a young dachnik (vacationist) with a riding crop in his hand bowed to her in passing; whereupon she blushed like a girl in a novel but only said, with a spirited sneer, that he had never ridden a horse in his life. And another time, as we emerged onto a turn of the highway, my two little sisters in their wild curiosity almost fell out of the red family “torpedo” swerving toward the bridge."
wh. 写了： 2023年 5月 8日 09:48 你写的？英语法语都很漂亮啊。就是用词很大很正式，不太适合浪漫的语境……
第一句话让我想起Diamonds and Rust的歌词来：
Well, I'll be damned
Here comes your ghost again
But that's not unusual
It's just that the moon is full
And you happened to call
And here I sit
Hand on the telephone
Hearing a voice I'd known
A couple of light years ago
Heading straight for a fall