It was the latest thing: skin and muscle removal, complete exposure of bones, including the head. (Plastic surgery, even in the 23rd century, still marches on).
They met at a wedding. In those days, weddings could get rather risqué. Some were as sanctified as a mass, and others requiring, at the reception, consummation and turn-taking with the bride. These two met at the latter.
The reception hadn’t yet achieved the “bride and groom’s first dance” portion of the evening. They met at the buffet. It’s astounding how much easier it is to flirt and be honest when one doesn’t have a face. It’s less than a mask and more of an extreme statement of naked truth. No need to worry about blushing or bad skin or splotchy complexions.
He owned a brothel and she designed and manufactured prostitutes. In fact, he his company preferred her prostitutes to others because of their human warmth and animated facial expressions.
These two didn’t bang at the reception as everyone else did. They took the taboo option of sneaking away and getting breakfast at Denny’s for their 4am Pancakes and Porn special (all the pancakes you can eat with porn on every TV). To the sounds of people fucking loudly and with fake enthusiasm in the background, and smushing their pancakes into a pools of syrup, they honestly told one another about every terrible thing they’ve ever done.
To their relief, they discovered they weren’t terrible after all, as the other didn’t storm out offended.
Did they eventually bang? Did they become friends? Did they dismantle any other parts of their body?
All that is important, really, is that they never kissed. They couldn’t without lips. But that was fine because kissing had always presaged danger and misery. And these two managed to avoid that.
I'm Lady Ristretto, writing under a pseudonym. My pseudonym has a pseudonym.