Doc and the Porn Star
Chapter 1
Everyone calls my father Doc. I got my father to sit with me not long ago to go over the story about how he and Jasmine got together. I taped the sessions, transcribed the interviews, pieced them together, cleaned up the grammar (I hope), and here's the story. I elected to use my father's voice for the story, but I occasionally filled in for one of the others involved. Conversations in quotes were as he seemed to remember them or as he paraphrased them for me. Occasionally, I felt compelled to fill-in some missing dialogue, especially when he was speculating about what someone else had said when he wasn't around. I hope you like his story.
Phil (Doc's oldest son)
* * * * *
I'd probably gone to a supermarket over a thousand times in the past thirty-five years since I'd turned twenty, yet that day three years ago turned out to be one of the most revolutionary and life-altering days in my life -- actually, in any life I've ever known about. No one has life-altering events at the supermarket.
I'd gone again, as usual, to my nearest Publix Supermarket. It was crowded and the lines were long and not enough registers were open. I thought about how I'd often made my patients stand in similar lines sitting in my office waiting room, but those days had ended when I retired from the practice of family medicine. I had lots of reasons. The main one was that I'd lost the spark of life.
Edie had been my spark of life for just over thirty years ... and then she died. With all I knew about medicine, and with everything my colleagues at the hospital knew they couldn't save her. Autoimmune diseases are a bitch. The one she contracted was deadly. She only lasted two weeks from onset to death.
I'd been devastated. I threw myself into my work, unsuccessfully. All I could think about was my loss and how I needed to recover, to get through the Grief Cycle, and to move into acceptance and get on with my life. I kept thinking that for a year.
The friends Edie and I had tried to coax me back into the land of the living. I either worked until I literally dropped in my tracks, or hibernated in my house avoiding all pretext at social contact. I'd lost my confidence. I'd lost the love of my life. To be honest, I cried a lot.
In my hermit life, I discovered sexual relief through pornography. I wasn't even embarrassed by the practice of masturbation as I watched various videos. I developed a few favorites among the female actresses in the films, and even dreamed and fantasized about longer and more robust relationships with them. Questing for love, I imagined love affairs with a few.
And then I was in line in Publix Supermarket with a week's worth of groceries. At least, I was eating better than I had the first six months after my loss.
The young woman ahead of me had long blonde hair with contrasting streaks in it to the middle of her back as well as a grocery cart half full of carefully chosen groceries. I noted they were all nonperishable. She wore a t-shirt for some band, modest shorts, sneakers without socks, and had a sleeve of tattoos along her left arm. There were also a couple of tats on her legs.
When she turned to look behind her, at me, I was dumbstruck. The young woman was Jasmine Jane, one of my favorites on the Internet. She smiled at me.
We all act impulsively from time to time. Sometimes we blurt out words we immediately wish we could take back. Sometimes those words hurt, but other times they are expressive, and sometimes, too, they change the course of history.
I blurted out, "Jasmine, I love your work."
She looked surprised and did a double take at me. Yes, I'm middle age, but I'm not out of shape, plus after Edie died I'd lost twenty-five pounds. My bouts with booze had put some weight back on, but that had stopped. I'd even started to exercise again, although modestly.
Jasmine frowned and said in a low tone, "I suppose you're some pervert and that's your best pickup line."
I shook my head, "No. I love you. What you do is of little import to me. I've seen you be expressive ... and ... well ... " I finally decided I should shut up and that I'd embarrassed her and me. Under my breath I said, "I'm sorry."
Jasmine did a little harrumph and turned her back on me. I expected she got approached like I'd just done a dozen times a day. What she was doing in Sarasota, Florida, mystified me, but we all have to live somewhere. Her grocery cart proved she lived nearby, or she was buying stuff for a friend.
She put her groceries on the moving belt, and successfully avoided eye contact with me. I watched her every move. She was graceful yet efficient. I admired her selections of food; they were healthy for the most part. The tampons suggested feminine care. The shampoo indicated to me care for her gorgeous hair.
She was suddenly gone, having paid in cash by counting out every penny, but I did detect one last glance back at me as the clerk started to process my load of groceries on the moving belt. I couldn't take my eyes off of her. I'd been a good boy and even brought my permanent bags to the store to avoid the plastic ones. I sighed and gave up on Jasmine, just grateful to have seen her once in my lifetime -- for real.
A few minutes later I pushed my cart laden with my bags out of the store into the parking lot. I opened the tailgate of my SUV and started to put the bags inside.
From six feet away a female voice demanded, "You said you love me. Tell me why? What did you mean?" The voice was on the edge of antagonistic.
I turned and there stood Jasmine with her hands on her hips and a challenging look on her face. Her large sunglasses had been pushed up in her hair so I could see her eyes -- they were narrowed into angry slits staring at me.
I spoke carefully. "Jasmine, my name is Doc Carter. I've been trained to watch people and impute things about them -- people of all ages. I've watched many, many of your videos, and in the process absorbed a lot about you that I don't think you intended to have your audience see and know about you. Of course, I could be wrong, too; depending on how good an actress you are.
"I believe you are a compassionate person struggling with some personal issues that produce stress in your life. I'm guessing that these transcend simple money issues in part because of various ways you frown or wince in some situations. I also see you as loving, but not in love. I don't believe you are in a serious relationship, but that might be an outdated opinion based on the last group of videos you were in.
"I detected a fierce independence and an in-your-race attitude some of the time, but I don't think you are normally confrontational. Maybe this situation proves me wrong." I gestured to the two of us and tried to give a friendly smile.
"I impute that you are flexible and adaptive to various situations, friendly, a good conversationalist, insist on being respected and respect others, and expect to be treated fairly and equitably, even in erotic and sexual situations."
Jasmine had been mute but carefully listening as I spoke. I finally shut up rather than keep rambling. After a short silence, she said, "And you got all that from watching me fuck guys in porn films?"
I nodded. "I have few outlets for that part of my life. Thank you for being part of it, as embarrassing as it is for me to admit that to you."
