No Doubt’s first CD plays in Alyna’s car and I still don’t understand why anyone has ever bought any of their records or why Alyna and almost any girl I’ve ever known loves their shitty music.
This mystery remains unsolved as Alyna and I pull into the underground parking garage at the Virgin Megastore on Sunset with the intent of buying Jefferson Airplane’s Crown of Creation because mine has been lost. As we come up the elevator and the doors open, we see a giant mob of teenage girls standing in a line that snakes around the side of the building out onto the street.
We walk into the main courtyard area of the shopping center and the crowd’s source is revealed to be Gwen Stefani. She’s inside the store signing copies of her various CDs, posters, and other crap.
Alyna looks at me and says, “Holy shit. I didn’t know she was gonna be here. Do you mind if I go get something autographed?”
I tell her I will meet her back here and go and buy my CD, which takes me all of five minutes. I head back to meet Alyna in the mob. The line hasn’t moved, and I find Alyna near the end.
The line we wait in isn’t entirely unpleasant. I’m surrounded by teenage girls dressed in self-empowering belly shirts and thongs that rise up out of their pants. I wonder if the doomseed growing in Casey’s gut will turn into one of these mini-bitches in fourteen years. There are a few other guys in the crowd, but I think they’re fags. Alyna keeps telling me how sorry she is and how much she thinks this sucks, but I know she’s enjoying it just as much as the teenage girls are. This should bother me more than it does.
The two girls directly behind us in the generally disorganized crowd that’s supposed to be a line we’re standing in have the following conversation:
One girl says, “I can’t believe we’re going to meet her.”
The other one says, “I know. It’s so awesome.”
The other one says, “Seriously, she’s like the raddest girl ever.”
The other one says, “I know. I have like two posters of her.”
The other one says, “Which ones?”
The other one says, “The one where she’s punching all tough like and the one where she’s dressed up in a pretty dress all girly.”
The other one says, “I have the one where she’s punching hanging over my bed.”
The other one says, “Me, too.”
I grab Alyna’s tit over her shirt and squeeze it, which is a behavior I’ve gotten her used to. She turns into the squeeze, hiding it between our bodies, but not discontinuing it. But then she grabs my wrist and lowers my hand and says, “There are little kids here. Wait till we get back to your place.” It’s the first rejection of this type she’s ever given me. I dismiss it based on the legitimacy of her argument.
I end up being forced to listen to another conversation, this one slightly more interesting than the first, between two girls who I roughly estimate to be about fifteen.
One bitch says, “Paul wants me to suck his you-know-what. Have you sucked Kenny’s?”
The other bitch says, “I did it once.”
The other bitch says, “What was it like?”
The other bitch says, “Kind of weird. It was totally like shoving a Blow Pop down your throat.”
The other bitch says, “Did he, you know…finish?”
The other bitch says, “No. I had to do it with my hand.”
The other bitch says, “Why didn’t he?”
The other bitch says, “He said I was doing it wrong. But he hasn’t even tried to go down on me, so I couldn’t care less.”
The other bitch says, “I don’t know if I want Paul to be down in that area.”
The other bitch says, “Does he ever use his hand on you?”
The other bitch says, “Yeah, sometimes.”
The other bitch says, “And do you like it?”
The other bitch says, “Yeah.”
The other bitch says, “Then think of how good a tongue would feel.”
The other bitch says, “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Maybe I should make some kind of deal with him. I’ll do him if he does me.”
The other bitch says, “You totally should. I think I’m going to do that to Kenny next time he wants me to suck his thing.”
The other bitch says, “I can’t believe we’re about to see Gwen.”
The other bitch says, “I know, it’s so cool.”
The other bitch says, “Do you think Gwen sucks Gavin’s you-know-what?”
The other bitch says, “I bet she doesn’t have to.”
The other bitch says, “She’s so awesome.”
That’s when I tune out and notice that even though we’re still far from being next in line, Gwen Stefani is in my line of sight. She is hot as fuck. Her hard little tits are pushing out against a wife beater that has the word ROCKSTAR printed on it in rhinestones.
I imagine what she’s like in the sack. My gut tells me that away from her public image, in the confines of whatever room she’s being fucked in, she’s completely submissive. No matter how much girl power she has, I imagine Gavin Rossdale’s dick has more power. I wonder what the two girls behind us in line would think of her if they could see her with a load of Rossdale’s cum sprayed all over her face.
Over the course of the next twenty minutes we make our way to the head of the line. Once there, Alyna hands her a poster she bought inside and we have the following conversation with Gwen Stefani:
Gwen Stefani says, “Hi there, who should I make this out to?”
Alyna says, “Alyna.”
Gwen Stefani says, “How do you spell that?”
Alyna says, “A-L-Y-N-A.”
Gwen Stefani says, “Cool name.”
Alyna says, “Thanks.”
Gwen Stefani signs the poster and hands it back to Alyna, then says, “There you go. Rock on.”
For some reason I say, “Thanks,” and we head back out into the mob.
When we get back to Alyna’s apartment, she puts the poster up on her bedroom wall and fucks me like a crazed animal. I don’t know if it was getting Gwen Stefani’s autograph or the fact that I offered no concrete objection to waiting around to get it that got Alyna so amped up, but I don’t question it.
As I look over at Gwen Stefani kicking at nothing in particular to display her unique style and empowerment, I pull out and blow a load all over Alyna’s tits.