The uniform required for you and your coworkers, both alien and human, are very full coverage.
For the protection of your skin and health is the reason you're given, but you'd not really cared much since you got the first three sets given to you months ago. Some of your coworkers had much louder, and more disgruntled opinions about the uniforms, opting to change certain parts out despite the looming fine and reprimanded for doing as such. The higher ups didn't care much most days, but there is an inspection coming up soon so that lax attitude is likely to change quickly as the day grows closer.
The full coverage of your uniforms means however that certain differences between humans and aliens aren't seen, or at least not outside of diagrams.
One such difference is stretch marks, you have them and have grown used to the sight of them across your body. However the new alien you work with has apparently never seen this particular occurrence on a human before, so the first night you were sharing a habitation unit and changed out of your uniform they let out a strange trilling sound before scrambling over to you.
The trilling sound continues as they snatch up one of your arms and stare at you with wide grey eyes, the translation unit on them kicking in quickly as they pepper you with questions about your 'stripes' and whether all humans have them, the collection of tentacles that act as their hands poke and drag along the pinkish line of one of your slightly faded stretch marks. Clearing your throat you gently ask to be let go of, explaining as gently as you can that this is normal for humans and happens when their body's skin stretches or shrinks too fast, watching as the alien you're now working with bobs its entire upper body.
You're honestly not surprised that they don't know what stretch marks are, considering their race closely resembles earth's jellyfish in the way that they are made up of layers of water, something almost like mesoglea, and their own planet's natural protein cells.
The translator takes a hushed tone, mimicking whispers as the squishy alien asks if they can touch them or if that would be too personal. Apparently the idea of alternative texture on your skin has enraptured them, so you sigh and nod your head telling them they can touch but only so long as you get to explore your own curiosity about the texture of their own outer layers.
So, here you are, laying on the standard issue habitation unit carpet letting your alien coworker trail their receptor tendrils across the stretch marks along your stomach and hips, as you in turn play with the long flat tentacle like extensions from their head. Despite what you had expected they were soft, like peach fuzz, the texture not at all what you expect from such a jelly like alien, but even as your own curiosity is being satisfied, the touch of the alien grows bolder.
Apparently just touching wasn't enough now, and the tentacles touching your hips prod at the edge of your pants, almost demanding as they snap the band slightly. The lines of your stretch marks run down past your waist, and now your alien cohabitant wants to follow the full length and line of this new found human feature.
Looking up at their large grey eyes you give it a single moment of thought before sighing, and unclipping the buttons of your uniform pants.
May as well see how far the curiosity goes, now that you're this deep in it anyway...
