Andrew C McDonald
Bio
Andrew McDonald was a 911 dispatcher for 30 yrs with a B.S. in Math (1985). He served as an Army officer 1985 to 1992, honorably exiting a captain.
https://www.amazon.com/Killing-Keys-Andrew-C-McDonald-ebook/dp/B07VM843XL?ref_=ast_author_dp
Stories (730)
Filter by community
Venemous Huntings - Chp 2
For the beginning go to: https://shopping-feedback.today/filthy/venemous-huntings ********************************************* The taxi ride to the Monterey Suites was a blur of flashing lights and humid wind. Vixen watched the traffic fly by. The glare of headlights was punctuated by the sound of car horns and the occasional blast of bass from someone’s overly loud radio. The people hustling by on the sidewalks were a garish riot of psychedelic colors as the neon lights bathed them in a continuous strobe of riotously fluctuating illumination. Watching them, the girl ruminated on what she was about to do. Going to a hotel room with a vampire. Maybe have sex. What about when or if he gave in to the idea of trying to turn her? What then? Did she want to live forever at the cost of her humanity…, her friends and family…, the sun?
By Andrew C McDonald2 years ago in Filthy
Venemous Huntings
Nostrils flaring as he breathed in the too human smells of blood, sex, sweat, and desperation mingled with stale cigarette smoke and booze, the vampire searched the crowded mass of gyrating prey. These dark little bars full of desperate people looking for affection and human contact were perfect places to hunt for victims. There! The lithe little brunette with the page boy hair cut. The girl had been coming in for the past few weeks, but always alone. As far as he could tell her status so far had remained the same when she left, usually at closing time. No boyfriend… or girlfriend… as far as he could determine. A loner; nice curves, pert breasts not overly large, long silken throat… Oh yes. Perfect, he thought.
By Andrew C McDonald2 years ago in Filthy
Tongue In Groove
TONGUE IN GROOVE A STAND UP COMEDY ROUTINE BY: ANDREW C. MCDONALD Hey folks. I’m Andrew McDonald and I’m from Palm Bay. Ever heard of it? Central Florida on the East coast. Most people hear what they think you said so they pore the maps until they find Palm Beach. Well, never mind – less tourists cluttering up my town then. Still, as far as Palm Bay goes I’m here to tell you – I’ve looked around and sure enough there’s Palms all over the damn place – after all, it’s in Florida. But where the hell is the Bay? There’s a river – that’s easy to find by the smell CAUSE THAT THING STINKS, especially in the summer – but I haven’t found the bay yet. …
By Andrew C McDonald2 years ago in Humor
Let No Man Rend Asunder
When she walked into the door I just looked at her. My eyes full of confusion, hurt, anger. I couldn't believe she would betray me like that. Betray seven years of marriage, her oaths. Destroy our once cherished hopes and dreams..., our sacred bond. My soul cried out at me to scream, rant, rave. To lash out. To vent my pain and anguish on her. Yet I also wanted to tell her how much I loved her. How she had always been the center of my universe since the first time I had seen her standing in the moonlight on the edge of the river. This vision of loveliness which the very moon seemed to focus on.
By Andrew C McDonald2 years ago in Fiction
The Final Station
Running, panting, breath pounding in and out of his screaming lungs, Tom ran toward the old gas station. It was the only refuge in sight on this deserted highway. His legs felt like lead weights as he continued, barely, to place one in front of the other. Stumbling past the two corpses hanging from the silver car at the pumps, he barely registered the blackened, bloated skin or the clouds of flies swarming over them. Churning, his stomach threatened to spew the last of it's contents at the horrific stench. Swallowing the acidic bile, he waved off the smell and continued his death march.
By Andrew C McDonald2 years ago in Fiction
Alex
A single tear ran down her cheek. A meandering stream, cutting a wandering path. With a crooked finger, I wiped it. It lay there upon my finger: A single bead of water, salty, translucent. Silvery it was, mercurial as happiness doomed to fade. Like her tanned skin, it glistened in the blazing sunset, reflecting the light of her soul.
By Andrew C McDonald2 years ago in Fiction