Nicole Aikens couldn’t help but show off the thick metal neckband hanging by the doorway of her cafe. It was sentimental — the first collar she’d ever worn.

“I got this when I was like 19 and I think it took all the money out of my pocket,” she said, adding it cost almost $600 from a bespoke leather shop in New York’s West Village.

The cherished paraphernalia is part of a collection adorning Aikens’ relatively new space at 2015 North Charles St., where the budding restaurant aims to spark chatter.

Inside, a mannequin’s disembodied legs hang over the dimly lit dining room, a pair of 6-inch heels from Aikens’ “younger years” strapped to its feet. Vibrators from Aikens’ and her wife’s retail store that used to sit up the block, along with other toys and clitoris-shaped art pieces from friends, sit on glowing red shelves facing a commissioned St. Andrews cross, decorated with whips and paddles.

It’s a restaurant unlike many others. Aikens’ BDSM-themed Kink Cafe is dedicated to platforming controversial and highly stigmatized conversations surrounding sex and consent — topics she believes deserve a place at the dinner table.

Ian Parrish, whose family trust owns the Kink Cafe building and several others, described Kink Cafe as a safe space. People can find community and challenge their preconceived thoughts and emotions, he said, while noshing on hefty pescatarian entrees or bite-sized crostinis, listed among other appetizers on the menu under “Foreplay.”

“If you don’t like it, you don’t have to go through the doors,” said Parrish, whose family trust also owns the Baltimore Eagle, a famed gay leather bar and nightclub down the block.

Raised in Baltimore, Aikens grew up feeling a lack of autonomy over her body. Her first sexual experience was rape; and it left her wondering: “When can I make the choice to do something that feels good to me?” She can’t recall how she found BDSM, a community involving restraints and the granting or relinquishing of control. But it made her feel free.

The BDSM community was predominantly white, which, as a Black woman, left her isolated, she recalled. Over time, she found people of all colors and sexualities who were also interested in exercising more clear communication in intimacy.

“It’s a whole conversation and sometimes it’s a contract,” she said of her BDSM experience. “You feel empowered because everything is done on your terms,” she said.

Eateries for people taking part in the subculture of BDSM or other less conventional sexual activities are not new. Across the country, clubs and cafes have served as meeting points to ask questions and get to know others. But Aikens hopes to build her Kink Cafe into a venue to expand people’s horizons, where any member of the public feels safe to show up, eat and talk about sex.

Her two-person staff and volunteers at Kink Cafe, some of whom similarly found strength in BDSM, say it’s exciting to watch customers explore the space.

“If you have any questions [or] if you would like to try one of the flogs, or flogging or being flogged, I have no issue with that,” said Lewis, a waiter who goes by the name “3″ and introduces himself as a servant, which he explained comes from the culture of service-oriented roles in BDSM. He and some other servers walk around wearing masks.

Lewis declined to share his last name out of fear of being harassed outside of work. Sometimes people can be intimidated by the space, he said, and he considers himself somewhat of a guide.

Customers arrive with questions. The menu alone can catch people off guard, with items named after sexual terms. Like the sweet nonalcoholic “elixirs” or drinks listed under names like Fellatio, a mix of honey, lemon juice and ginger beer. Or Pound Town, made with mint, pineapple, lemon juice and soda water. Then there are the dishes, all made by Aikens, the only chef, ranging from an eggplant parmesan, known as Punish Me Parmesan, and a jerk-seasoned grilled branzino, called “Shibari” for the Japanese bondage art.

Occasionally, there is entertainment, including comedians, DJs and karaoke nights. There’s no nudity or sex. To engage with customers, Lewis said he will drop off bottles of “curiosity capsules,” small capsules with provocative questions for tables to ask each other about intimacy and sexuality.

Giving people the chance to safely learn about themselves is rewarding, Lewis said. “If you are denying yourself the ability to either learn or explore something that will give you more knowledge about what you want or don’t want in future experiences, that I feel like is a lost opportunity.”

Aikens didn’t set out to open a restaurant. Her mother cooked by microwave, she said, and it wasn’t until both Aikens and her wife turned pescatarian that she made an effort to learn new recipes and build flavor — an aspiration she learned through food videos and “The Flavor Bible Cookbook.”

For Aikens, Kink Cafe is also a step toward a larger pursuit.

In 2019 she started a nonprofit, I Survived Inc., to assist survivors of sexual abuse with counseling and lessons on how to advocate for themselves in relationships. Then the pandemic hit, she said, and fundraising dried up.

“I didn’t want to wait around for funding,” she said.

At the time she was running a pop-up, Dinner Debauchery, that was making a profit. Why couldn’t a restaurant? In the last two years she’s emptied her life savings, personal possessions and all that’s left into Kink Cafe, in the hopes it will turn into a fundraising arm for I Survived Inc.

After operating, staff, rent and food costs, less than a few thousand dollars have been donated to her nonprofit, she said, though she’s not deterred.

“This, this is actually my survival story,” she said of the cafe. “That’s what I’m calling it.”