Happy hour at Hellen's

It's Saturday night in Amsterdam and Hellen's Place is swinging. A dancing woman flashes her shaved pudendum, as much for her own pleasure as anyone else's, a twist which highlights the difference between what is claimed to be "Europe's only erotic bar" and the hundreds of sex bars and clubs that crowd the city's notorious red-light area.

The advertising blurb for Hellen's Place promotes it as "women-friendly". "Until our bar, there wasn't anywhere for women to go and express themselves erotically in a mixed environment that was safe," says the co-owner of the bar, Hellen Kermis, a handsome woman in her fifties. Hellen, a mother of four, is proud that for a pounds 3 entry fee, erotic fantasies can be played out in a relaxed atmosphere away from the tourists and the dirty mac brigade. "I wanted to provide somewhere for women - and men - of all persuasions to be themselves.

"Women are not for sale here. People do what they do because it feels right and it's their free choice."

Hellen is constantly on the alert, scrutinising every newcomer. "If I don't like the look of them, out they go," she says. "There are other bars they can go to if they want prostitutes."

Hellen's Place attempts to bring together "all the colours of the rainbow" in a city where sexuality is ghettoised and territorial. Three transsexuals check each other's make-up, muscles rippling in lace, while two elderly transvestite company directors adjust their wigs and buy drinks for their girlfriends. There are several gay men dotted around the bar. Two lesbians openly masturbate each other. They laugh contemptuously as one man asks the obvious: "Are you lezzies?" A heterosexual couple launch into explicit foreplay. And there are a lot of knickerless women.

In the cellar behind a red door, several rooms cater to the clientele's differing persuasions. There's the S&M Room, the Mirror Room, the Play Area and the Dark Room - a small, windowless room painted black. Yolande Marcella, a 36-year-old export manager, admits to having peeked into it. "I was curious. A couple were dancing and the man suddenly dropped his pants. I only come here for the conversation."

Hellen, in a thick woolly jumper and tights, plays out her role as bar matriarch. "People come to me when they have problems. I suppose I'm a sort of sex therapist. I've seen it all here. And I don't get shocked." The topless, baby-faced barman (who turns out to be Welsh) nods in agreement. Hellen adds: "Here, people suddenly have wings."

Eva Van Bergh, a 26-year-old waitress, certainly found herself soaring to new heights. "I was very inhibited. I wouldn't say I was frigid but I didn't feel at ease with my body."

Then one night Eva downed a stiff gin and entered a competition for the best erotic dance. "I just let myself go. The next thing my clothes were missing and I had won. I thought I must have something after all. Since then things have got better. I've had sex with a couple of guys in the Dark Room. I'm trying the Mirror Room next."

Several men hang around four cubicles which for pounds l provide a large keyhole view of what's happening in the Mirror Room. "They're doing it!" someone yells. The bar area suddenly empties. Everyone crowds into the cubicles. It's like a rugby scrum. There's a lot of embarrassed giggling while a young couple copulate busily, seemingly oblivious of their audience.

Upstairs, Hellen's business partner, Ben Van Weelden, flaunts kohl-rimmed eyes and silver nail varnish. He's also naked. A former laboratory technician with "several girlfriends", he cites eroticism as his only interest. "I don't know anything more exciting," he says.

At Hellen's Place, the walls are black and scarlet with enough aluminum foil to bake a thousand turkeys. Love-heart mobiles swing above the dance area. In a corner, a mannequin in black PVC gazes across at a toy seagull hanging above the bar. Saturday night's crowd are oblivious of the bar's tackiness as they watch an earnest young man paint the bare breasts of an attractive brunette. "We wanted to bring sex into the Nineties," Ben explains. "The scene in Amsterdam is still stuck in the Sixties and Seventies with a separate scene for everyone. We want to bring everyone together."

The aim is a heartfelt one. But woman-friendly or not, Hellen's Place could do with some of the spontaneity of the Sixties and Seventies. The atmosphere is heavy with expectancy and heads swivel at each new arrival. It's as if most of the clientele are waiting for someone else to do their thing. Perhaps that's the trouble with the Nineties: even the best intentions turn out to be business propositions in the end.