Andrew Dominguez
Bio
Greetings! My name is Andrew Dominguez. I am a NY-based writer with a passion for creating romantic and horror narratives, sometimes diving into eroticism. Hopefully my daily wanderings will enrich your life in some way. Enjoy!
Stories (65)
Filter by community
A Dark Existence—The Wandering Small Fish, Two Halves of the Same Pond
It happened on his fifth night there, the boy’s first Wednesday there that second trip. His friend, Fate, decided to work that night because her work ethic was undetainable even during vacation. The boy admired Fate for that and so much more considering her tragic childhood. A similar childhood to the boy’s.
By Andrew Dominguez5 years ago in Humans
The Boy, The Man, and The Big City
The boy knew he was in a different element, a new city that for the first time in his life made him question everything about his existence, his convictions, his destiny. Could he perhaps have been so set in his ways that he was blinded as to where his destiny, his legitimate destiny, truly was? He contemplated this possibility as he sipped on the chocolate ice cream shake he so thoroughly enjoyed the first and second time he ordered it, and realized it was consistently enjoyable this third time, just like that big, new city where he felt like a small fish, but a happy fish.
By Andrew Dominguez5 years ago in Filthy
Still Yet Drifting
I wish it had been different type of drifting. I wish I had drifted off to a light sleep before heading over to 1755 Sepulveda to pick him up for dinner, for another night out on the town, or just to hang out over sushi and sake and over tears of laughter and heartbreak. I wish it had been a nightly drifting instead of a morning wake; this way he would have had another night to drift through. His mother didn’t say much as I entered aside from her usual and passive “hello.” She had been passive throughout her entire motherhood. She was dressed in black which matched Edwin’s mental obscurity that early a.m. that led him to end his day prematurely and every following day permanently. His dad was also in black, greeting me with the same smile he hid behind regardless of the occasion.
By Andrew Dominguez5 years ago in Humans
Thunders Down Under
My moment of absolute embarrassment dates back to long before the date even started. I met this guy at one of the most popular gay clubs in West Hollywood during a drunken night. He was tall, lanky to be exact, had shaggy, brown hair and very intriguing brown eyes; he was very much the type of guy who would catch my attention opposed to his surrounding buff pole dancers and muscular, blonde Adonis. His name was Nate. We spoke for about ten minutes before he had to leave to the next bar with his girlfriends. We exchanged numbers and texted for a few days before deciding to go on a date. It was on the day of that I started to get really excited and texted my best friend, telling her all about Nate. In the heat of the excitement, nervousness, and anxiety, my stomach started to act out in a completely opposite manner of its usual sluggishness, prompting me to run to the restroom as my bowels contorted inside me. Eleven minutes later and four knocks to the bathroom door of that coffee shop, all I could think was “Thank God for the air freshener the owner provided for guests!”
By Andrew Dominguez5 years ago in Confessions
Vera Wood
A friend once told me that “everyone gets a little help on their way to the top.” Well, let me tell you fellow readers, this isn’t always the case. We were seventeen years old when we had our first real conversation (we had known each other for about two years but social cliques and gossip kept us apart), and funny enough, we bonded over one of our favorite things in the world—food! Even at seventeen, this young woman was already a force not to be reckoned with. Every lunch I shared with her allowed me to see deeper into her soul: she was set in her ways when it came to food, but in a good way; just like me, she loved our school salads and hated everything else ever served. Just like me, she reveled in “second lunch” after school at the nearby Chipotle or Johnny Rockets, even though we both knew, even at the young age of seventeen, that there were far superior burger joints and Mexican restaurants in Los Angeles. Just like me, she knew the fruits of hard labor that supported our after school hangouts, having worked at a froyo and candy shop full time while juggling coarse A.P class schedules. This wonderful young lady turned woman is “Vera Wood.” And just like her stage name, everything about her is original and the product of extensive labor.
By Andrew Dominguez5 years ago in Humans
You: When Love Kills
If you’re a fan of "Dexter," then you can’t miss out on "You." This psychological thriller stars Penn Badgley as a charming bookshop manager Joe Goldberg, a man who has a warped way of showing his affection for women. Once Joe has his sights set on a gal, he does everything in his power to get her for himself and only himself. In Season one, Joe meets Beck, an aspiring writer and graduate student down on her luck as she struggles with the New York dating scene and blending in with her inner circle of materialistic socialites. After meeting Beck at work, Joe sets out to win her heart at all costs—that is—the cost of all those around her. From stalking her on social media, instigating against her friends, and in the style of predators like himself—murder—
By Andrew Dominguez5 years ago in Geeks
Our Thankful Goodbye, Thankful For Me
“I am thankful for my mom. I am thankful for my dad. I am thankful for good health. I am thankful for my home. I am thankful for my wife. I am grateful for my husband. I am thankful for my children. I am thankful for my family. I am thankful to not be alone.” I hear these sentences coming from people, all types of people. Everyday. More than once a day, more than I care to hear. What am I thankful for? What am I thankful for. I think about this question, this rhetorical statement, often though I admittedly try to avoid the thought.
By Andrew Dominguez5 years ago in Humans
The Villain
We laid in his bed, side by side, finally bare to what we were. Words fell into limbo, though I still engaged in playful, childish wordplay during the climax to reiterate our foundation. He observed my jovial facade; allowing it; contesting it through those beautiful blue eyes; those blues that said infinitely more than what he usually uttered through his lips. I looked at this passageway in my exploration, remembering their wetness from only minutes before. As I continued, nearing the culminating moments of the act, I revisited them once again. Wet, slightly chapped and nevertheless soft like the rest of his face. I looked at his exposed arm, the two moles on it mirroring mine, also on my left arm, also in the same spot. Only seconds away from finishing, I wondered if he also noticed our one resembling trait.
By Andrew Dominguez6 years ago in Humans
Existing Obsolete
“He doesn’t even know I exist,” was my running thought every time I saw him. Every time I looked at him taking orders, standing confidently erect and flaunting every ounce of his physical beauty. This was never an intentional demonstration for he wasn’t vain despite having every reason to be; he was tall; his hair dirty blonde, wavy and soft, an imagined softness aromatized with his body's pheromones.
By Andrew Dominguez6 years ago in Humans
