Jack Boulware

Behind the scenes of a porn movie shoot in which I appear as an extra (fully clothed, with three hours’ sleep). This 1995 film “Dog Walker,” directed by John Leslie, won four AVN awards including best director and best screenplay, no doubt in part because of my one line of dialogue. Excerpted from “Sex, American Style.”

Dog Walker Extra

After fitful dreams, I am sitting in a rental car with two acquaintances who are much better connected to such a world, listening to the Howard Stern show in a parking lot of the Refinery bar, in a West Hollywood strip mall next to the Mini Swap Meet Family Gift, Imperial Liquors, Hector�s Beauty Center, and Rubicon Real Estate. The morning is choked and sunny, a beautiful L.A. smog haze painting the sky as we watch the crew unload equipment. Our only contact is the man who hired us: director Ron Sullivan, aka Andre Pichard, who is functioning as assistant director for the day.

The crew members are industry pros who work on all kinds of films besides porn. The wardrobe girl used to work at the tabloid news show Hard Copy. If you were in a car driving past the block, it would appear to be any medium-sized film shoot in Los Angeles—a couple of dressing trailers for the cast, a truck or two for the equipment, a table of food under an umbrella. It could be a soft-drink commercial or fashion shoot—or a top-selling porn video.

We hang out at the catering table, scarfing free food and chatting with the other extras. One old guy looks about 60, wearing a fishing hat. He could be your perverted grandpa. Another little guy wears a Members Only jacket, and another looks like he should be driving a delivery van for US Courier. There is one woman in her late 30s, wearing lots of jewelry and a B.U.M. jacket with patches, who works in sales for the porn production company Zane. She boasts that she has been an extra in 15 or 20 films. The female stars stay inside the dressing trailer, and the male actors sit out in the sun passing around a bowl of weed. The mood is mellow yet intense—quintessential L.A.

Today’s shoot will actually be two scenes for the films Dog Walker and the Voyeur series, both directed by John Leslie, shot on 35mm film stock with a big budget. Crew members tell me with some amount of pride that they’ve been shooting one film for over a week. Featured adult stars on the set are Kristi Lynn, Christina Angel, Tom Byron, Isis Nile and Steven St. Croix. Veteran adult star Jamie Gillis will act as assistant director, and Pichard is also some kind of an assistant. Leslie is wound up, a happy sex-driven guy, yet capable of extreme intensity, sort of like Al Pacino with a constant boner. He walks by the food table, where I’m sneaking M&Ms, then suddenly stops and points at me:

“You. Act like somebody’s messing with your girl. Say ‘Hey, leave her alone.’”

Hey, leave her alone.

Leslie turns away, still pointing at me. “Great, this guy’s gonna do it.”

In the first scene to be shot, a fully-clothed St. Croix and a slinky Christina Angel get into an argument. I am to sit at the end of the bar behind them, listening to their squabbling, then turn around and interrupt them by saying, “Hey, pal, leave the lady alone!” St. Croix will then grab the collar of my jacket and snarl, “Leave…now.” We do at least nine takes. Nothing against St Croix, but just for the record, I nailed my line every time.

Next up is a handjob scene with Isis and St. Croix. A special light with blue gel is positioned for the “wood shot.” The dialogue is steamy and full of innuendo. Leslie gives specific instructions: “Okay, take his cock out. Twirl your thumb around it.” The movies are magic.

The crew relights the bar for a “gangbang”, which will be four guys and one woman. In an rare departure from the norm, Leslie will allow all the extras to watch—hence the concept of the Voyeur series. Leslie wanders the bar, checking camera angles and positions, He steps over some cables and announces to nobody in particular: “Over in Germany, they can shit on people but they can’t pull the hair.” The crew laughs, but they are visibly jealous they won’t be allowed to watch.

The shoot resumes, and Kristi Lynn, who can’t be more than 19, walks into the bar, Leslie playing the character of her boyfriend. She is wearing a ridiculously tight one-piece leotard-type outfit with built-in garters and high heels, making her butt stick up and out like a bitch in heat. They order drinks from the bartender, and when Leslie orders a soft drink, she chastises him for not having real booze. He doesn’t want to stay in the place but she begs him to stay. Suddenly, four guys wander over from the pool table and begin rubbing her body. The storyline disintegrates in favor of an extended 45-minute orgy. Lynn’s clothes are peeled off and she soon finds herself spread-eagled on bar stools, four dicks waggling at her from every angle. She begins sucking all of them in turn, with one eating her out. The extras sit on bar stools nearby, speechless, watching with saucer eyes. Leslie grabs a handheld Hi-8 camera and transforms into Uncle Pervey, maneuvering around the action, a grip tagging along behind him with a portable light.

Leslie stops to reload tape and orders, “Keep the edge, guys.”

One of the guys slaps his dick to keep it hard, the others idly pull on their puds like chimps. “You don’t have to direct me, veteran actor Tom Byron reminds Leslie, I know exactly what you’re going to shoot.”

The action resumes, and as Byron slobbers kisses on her mouth, Kristi abruptly pulls back, announces “Man, you smell like wine,” and sticks her gum in his mouth.

We later discover that she will be paid $200 for her work today.

One actor named Paul begins having sex with her from behind, loudly spanking her ass. Leslie hollers, “Don’t beat the shit out of her!” Everyone, including Kristi Lynn, cracks up.

At the far end of the bar near the door, an elderly fire inspector casually eats his lunch throughout. Jamie Gillis sits at the bar, yawning and scratching his stomach.

The guys trade positions and keep pumping away, Kristi requesting more lube and at one point asking, “Did my sponge come out?”

“We’ll do the anal,” announces Leslie with some authority, “then turn her over for the cum shot.”

Right on cue, Lynn screams “Fuck me, fuck me in the ass!” Leslie reiterates: “Put it in her ass, Tom.”

Tom Byron obliges, sinking his shaft into her, humping her butt like a crazed collie as three other insistent penises find their way into her hands and mouth. Leslie orders “I can’t see her ass,” so Byron holds one leg out of the way, Leslie on his knees, roaming his lens for the all-important angle as Byron stands on the ball of one foot like a Jethro Tull forest nymph. Byron pulls out of her asshole and a concerned Kristi exclaims “Is it dirty?” All four guys say “Heavens, no.”

(Later someone tells me that many porn starlets take enemas eight hours before, just to keep looking their best.)

The requisite come shot commences, with four guys ejaculating all over her face and chest as she screams, rather phonily, in delight.

A guy comes over with a camera to take static shots as if they’re still having sex. Still photos can’t show penetration, but there’s a huge market for them, so when the film is distributed, it will be accompanied by action color slides, for reprint in the porn press. The guys are going limp, she’s soaked with come, but the posing goes well.

Someone brings the actors towels, we extras retrieve our eyeballs and pop them back into the sockets. The front door of the Refinery blows open like a submarine’s door under extreme pressure, and the rest of the crew, wardrobe and catering people all descend on us: “What was it like? Did you see the gangbang?”

Yeah, we saw it. It was okay.

(First published in “Sex, American Style,” Feral House, 1997)