ABSTRACT
Keeping a sex diary wasn't an idea that required much thought; it came naturally to me. It's only natural to want to remember "the good times," and vacation and sex are the two things that best fit that description. When you're visiting the Grand Canyon, you take photos (or videos); when you're sucking dick in Griffith Park late at night, you write about it the next day. It's one of the things that people have become reluctant to admit to-after all, in the 1990s we're supposed to be, if not monogamous, at least carefully promiscuous, and it's no longer PC to need an aide-memoire of how much sex one had in a night at the baths. It's true, I no longer have much need for such a record, since sex has become scarce enough to warrant a place in my regular journal. But yes, for more than a decade I did keep a detailed list of all my sexual encounters: who, what, where, how big. For several years, I even extended it to include all orgasms-i.e., every time I jerked off. There's quite a stack of these journals, and I expect that someday the Kinsey Institute will use them to determine the sexual proclivities of gay male pomstars in the 1980s. In the meantime, they make great jack-off material for me, and some of the entries even fmd their way into fictional accounts.
