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Title: Should be called "Diary of a Sex Addict"
Review: Nowadays they have treatment centers for people with this affliction, but way back when this book was published it was considered daring and exciting. The heroine never meets a man she doesn't want to trot off to bed with and describe the coupling in minute detail. After awhile, every time she met a man (no matter how unappetizing) I'd wince, thinking, "Oh here we go again" and brace myself. It seemed aimless and pointless and pathetic. At one point the heroine says (moaning yet again about some man who had done her wrong), that he had separated her from the two things that meant the most to her: her child and her writing. But in truth she doesn't seem to care much about either of them and treats them as peripherals in her life while she pursues her sweaty encounters with anyone with a Y chromosome.Join Charlie Sheen, Tiger Woods, and Rob Lowe...just don't write about it.
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