Shaken but not stirred – Museu de l’Erotica, Barcelona

“I’m not sure about going in here,” said new man, “I already feel horny, so this is going to make me even worse.” He was always horny. I had persuaded him to come with me to Barcelona’s Museu de l’Erotica – it was on the list of things to do that I had drawn up before our weekend away.

We had already been slightly intimidated by the woman dressed up as Marilyn Monroe shouting “yoo-hoo” from the museum’s balcony down to the people below on one of the city’s busiest streets, La Rambla. Were we going to be met by a whole bevvy of woman dressed up as 1950s film stars? Perhaps Doris Day and Jane Russell were going to pour us drinks and offer canapes.

Luckily that didn’t happen. We entered a narrow door and climbed a staircase to the kiosk where we were charged 9 Euros each.

The museum was small – five or six rooms in total which ranged from the historically fascinating to the easy on the eye, the downright odd and the somewhat tacky.

I actually most enjoyed the pictures hanging on the wall. My particular favourites were the turn of the 20th century and 1920s images of people with their clothes pulled up performing sexual acts or just getting their bits out. Their facial expressions were rather passive and many of the ladies seemed to gaze into the middle distance while the men busied their hands, mouths or dangly bits in their nether regions.

“There’s too many big bushes for my liking.” Observed new man.  But, I tried to reason, people did have ‘big bushes’ in those days; it was the norm and no one would have regarded them as unattractive.

As well as photos there were drawings, paintings and pen and ink cartoons of people in various sexual acts, some man on man, some man on woman and others with multiple participants. These dated back over the 18th and 19th centuries. But also there were Chinese and Japanese paintings dating back to 13th century of couples in the act, with many of the ladies still with their feet bound up.  Picasso had a couple of erotic pieces up and there were some delicately painted images from the Karma Sutra.

In another room was a bit of a history lesson in the use of the phallus, with a giant wooden penis in a display case and lots of smaller penises (or is it penii?) we might assume were dug up by a team of archaeologists somewhere. We also learn that when Pompeii was unearthed from volcanic rubble there was erotic art all over the place – those Roman types must have been at it all the time. And, it seems so were the ancient Greeks if the figures painted on old vases and urns are to be believed. Apparently ancient Greece was also one of the first societies to accept, and at times, even encourage homosexuality.

Fetishism and sadomasochism was the theme of another room, but there wasn’t much to go on – the main point of interest was the ‘Chair of Pleasure’ by Yves Fedou , a metal chair with restraints plus metal penis – certainly unlike anything I have ever seen on a trip to my local dentist’s. There were a few whips, photos of people in bondage gear, along with another work of art, a sculpture of a painted, slightly scary woman.

There was also a curious turn of the century porn film flickering in another alcove, which seemed to feature a priest having his way with a middle-aged parishioner in flickering black and white, accompanied by traditional silent movie music. This was next to the details of members of the Spanish royal family’s interest in eroticism.

An area dedicated to Marilyn Monroe – hence the garb of the ‘yoo-hoo’ lady at the beginning didn’t quite fit in with the tone of the place. It’s not like Monroe was a porn star. Whoever curates the museum must be a fan and decided to celebrate her in the middle of all the penises and fannies.

Also incongruous with the art and history lesson, was a room dedicated to amazing sexual feats and world record holders, such as the longest ejaculation, the most sexual partners someone has had in a day, the largest orgy, biggest boobs etc. etc.

Of course, after this the exit was through the gift shop, after passing a display case of early vibrators, some of which looked like kitchen appliances.

The shop had nothing unexpected – some novelty wind-up penises, willy warmers, willy lollies and a few sex toys. I lingered too long on a small plastic cock ring/vibrator and the girl behind the desk leapt up, hoping to make a sale.

“You like this?” She asked in a Spanish accent. I shrugged, but she continued. “These are very good, you can test how it feels by touching it on your nose.”

And before I could politely make up an excuse about having to catch a bus, she whipped it out of the packet, switched it on and stroked the tip of my nose with it. New man by this time was curious at what the Hell was going on and came over.

“Here, you try too.” Continued the girl, so he also had the humiliation of a vibrating cock ring stroking his nose.

“Mm, yes,” he nodded, “Thank you.” He looked at me, bewildered. The girl backed off, perhaps hoping we would discuss it and agree to make a purchase. We quietly retreated to the exit. I told him they were good devices, but there may be an awkward moment if we were the subject of a random bag check at the airport, seeing as our cases weren’t going in the hold.

“I’ve come out of there not feeling horny at all.” He said, after we escaped. So we instead decided to have a look around the market.

Hip hip hooray!

This week Drunken Slut Mum is having a double celebration, so please help yourself to a glass of bubbly and some nibbles. You can also throw your coats on the bed, but the only person I want to see under them is The Man, waiting patiently for me to dive on top of him at the end of the night!

So, why the popping corks? Firstly, this blog you see before you is a year old (it was actually 30 August 2012, but what’s a few days between friends?). If you have been reading this since then, you deserve a medal for sticking with it and I thank you for your support.

If you are a DSM virgin, it’s never too late and you can wade through anything from a poem about vibrators to top tips on how to be a DSM, erotic shorts with ‘The Man’ in a range of positions and locations (such as this), debates on sex education, tales of my sexual adventures and meet ‘Barry’ and ‘Sandra’. There’s much, much more than can be listed here. So maybe, readers, you can suggest your own favourite bits, or even your worst bits.

And to prove this isn’t one of those episodes of ‘Friends’ or ‘The Simpsons’ where clips from old episodes are spliced together when characters remember old times (and the writers can’t be bothered that week), my second celebration follows up last week’s lament about the times my body lets me down.

Ladies, we may knock things over, break wind, cough, sneeze or have a wobbly belly, but we all have a bad habit of focusing on the bad. Celebrate your good bits – here are mine:

Lots of squashy bits: Let’s face it – you are not going to get a really good cuddle from a supermodel. I imagine snuggling up to Kate Moss or Lily Cole would be like putting your arms around a coat stand. On the other hand I can provide a range of locations which will double up as warm pillows.

A talented tongue: My tongue is the most athletic part of my body. I can flick it, touch the end of my nose with the tip, make it into a spoon shape and use it to such precision that I can push ice cream right down to the bottom of the cone. I don’t need to suggest other ways it can be employed…

Boobies: I like this childlike word for them, as does my toddler son. Mine are not perfect, but they are neither too big nor too small and still have some bounce left. I enjoy grabbing them and pushing them up and down in the same way as men in drag do when they have a fake pair. This may sound strange, but I still regard them as a bit of a novelty, even though I have had them over 20 years.

Legs: I don’t have the best legs in town but they have run a few miles, carried me up and down lots of hills and pedalled my bike. Oh, and they will spread quite far apart and wrap around bodies quite effectively too. So despite the knobbly knees they will do for me.

Hands: My hands are no better than anyone else’s – as we all sit there tapping at keyboards, phones and touch screens. In fact they would not win a beauty contest with my unmanicured nails and dry skin, but they can do some amazing stuff – ranging from sewing and kneading dough to plaiting hair and drawing pictures. I am also a pretty good tickler and amateur masseur, when required.

So, dear readers, raise a glass with me to DSM’s first birthday, the useful bits of our bodies and hope that I still know what to write about for another 12 months…

And I can’t sign off without saying a big thank you to my technical support/design team of one who made this possible in the first place. You know who you are.