A Neighborly Affair

A tale of love, deception, and OSINT
(This story takes place and was authored in 2013. The techniques described may no longer work in the way they did at the time of writing.)

Introduction

I live in an apartment complex which is just like any other apartment complex that you could imagine. There are the neighbors who act like you don’t exist, the annoying children running around being loud, and even the typical illegal immigrant lawn care workers. We have various ethnic groups, social classes, and races all thrown into one small living area which gives people an opportunity to see the world from their window- whether they would like to or not.

Before picking up the unfortunate habit of smoking, I never had to interact with my neighbors. Of course, the option was always there, but I didn’t have to. If smoking has one major negative effect aside from the obvious health issues, it is that you are expected to converse with other smokers. I’ve experienced this same social norm while smoking pipe tobacco and cigars. The difference being that I can, at the very least, talk about the brand of cigar or pipe tobacco we are smoking, the pipe itself, or other interesting conversation topics. This isn’t the case with cigarettes. Most of the time, the conversation is as meaningless and cheap as the cigarette itself.

This habit’s social responsibility fostered an unlikely acquaintanceship between the characters in this story and myself. Whenever I step outside to smoke, there’s a high possibility that my closest neighbor will also go outside and ask for a cigarette. This is another problem you run into while smoking- bums. I never understood the concept that we all have to share one of the most expensive products that people buy on a day-to-day basis, but let’s not get started on that rant now. For the slight attempt of anonymity for the parties concerned, we will call this cigarette bumming man Kimbo, due to his vague physical similarities to the famous street fighter and failed MMA star.

Kimbo is a simple, hardworking man. I actually know very little about Kimbo other than the fact that he has never bought a couch for his apartment. He plans on moving (even though I’ve lived here for almost a year and he hasn’t moved yet), and he explained that he “didn’t want to move the couch twice.” This wouldn’t be so odd if it weren’t for the fact that he has a fairly large TV mounted in his living room that he and his family watch often. I imagine the Kimbo family watches everything while sitting Indian-style on the ground. It’s charming in a certain respect. There’s just something about sitting Indian-style in a floor that creates an atmosphere of bonding. It’s possible that the Kimbo family is the most connected and enlightened family watching BET in the world. Who knows?

Kimbo’s wife is a simple, hardworking woman as well. She knows little about politics, or social issues, but is an avid fan of Obama. We commonly have conversations about social inequality, economics, and foreign policy. These aren’t the most insightful conversations, but she has a willingness to grow and learn which is all anyone could ever ask for. She has a child whom she had before Kimbo was in the picture, and does a good job of raising her. She is a moral person who certainly deserves respect. Overall, the Kimbo family are great people, and more of a real depiction of a black family than anything you will find on TV.

Kimbo’s wife is friends with a neighbor who lives on the second story of our building. This friend is a married mother of two, who happens to have more ass than most rap music videos. Her name is Samantha, and she is the star of our story. After a few months of being acquainted, and various alcoholic beverages consumed, I learned that Samantha’s married life left much to be desired. Her husband, Barry, apparently failed to give Samantha what she needed more than anything in life- his dick. This was a subject not often brought up, but the issues they were having seemed to add on top of the fact that she wasn’t getting any type of “stress” release.

Now, you may think that this story is going to take the route of your young, handsome, storyteller sweeping the troubled wife off of her feet leading to a hot, steamy, love affair. Your storyteller is thankful that you think so highly of him, but that is not the case at all. No, our story takes a different turn, to a series of events that were very unlikely to occur but almost as fulfilling as the rarity of the situation itself.


Puppy Love

Before I was aware of Samantha’s love life, I had observed her obvious attraction to the hipster who lived next to her. I wasn’t even sure if she was married, because I never saw her husband. The hipster who we will call JT (that’s what they call him, I have no idea what his actual name is) frequently would invite himself to the lawn chairs and table I have outside of my apartment to enlighten us with his superior knowledge of life. During this time with JT, I learned more than I would ever want to know about this otherwise forgettable person, and questioned what exactly it was that drew Samantha to him. One obvious reason they had interacted so much was the fact that they both had dogs and would take them outside to piss and shit everywhere you ever wanted to walk.

Samantha’s dog is named Andi, which is weird being that it’s a female. For some reason that I cannot comprehend, outside of my apartment is where little doggie powwows would take place with the few other people who have dogs. I can relate to the poor souls in Afghanistan and Vietnam who have to wonder if the next step they take will be a landmine because I have to dodge shit like they do every day. When being around the two of them at these shit-covered powwows, I observed that Samantha would constantly laugh at his half-ass, immature jokes and “edgy” statements that were the equivalent of an angry teenager’s Facebook status.

Samantha and JT’s relationship was taken down a notch when JT found true love in a girl who would have sex with him while still in a relationship with her boyfriend. Good job, JT! I’m sure “it’s complicated” and we couldn’t possibly understand the undying, everlasting love the two of you will share forever. While JT was being setup for heartbreak, Samantha was left looking for an outlet to satisfy her attention and not-yet-to-be-fulfilled dicking needs. There was still hope for her, though. Hope that came in the most unlikely of places.


Filling In The Blanks

When I meet people, a common activity I like to do is find out everything I can about them. This might sound creepy to you, and that’s because it is. I don’t think that I’m a creepy guy, but that is up for debate according to some people I know. The information that people pour out onto the Internet about themselves is what is creepy, not the act of finding it. I find it to be a fun challenge to know as much about a person as possible when I meet them. Knowledge is power, right?

Whether it’s pretending to have an interest in something to get with a person, or having something in common with a promising client: knowing things about a person that they don’t know you know allows you to have power over a conversation and sometimes the situation as well. As a security researcher, I spend a lot of my time learning new techniques involving information security. As much fun as it can be to use the newest scripts and tools to attack and defend systems, the most powerful tool in a hacker’s toolbox is human psychology. Although the ideas that a hacker commonly uses have existed long before radios, phones, and computers, applying those methodologies to technology is what gains the title of “hacker.” Semantics over the term are boring and I’ve already probably lost you in this part of the story. The point is, it’s not all about typing random crap into a computer. There’s a human element behind all of the flying code and systems, and that’s what we are ultimately exploiting.

The two most powerful tools I use are open source intelligence (OSINT) and social engineering. An essential part of OSINT is the process of data mining. Data mining is a computer science term that applies to the act of finding a specific pattern of data in a large database of information. It’s like that box or drawer in your house that has all kinds of random crap in it. If you are looking for something, digging in the box/drawer for 10 minutes to just go look in the other random crap box/drawer is inefficient. Now, imagine trying to find the object in your entire neighborhood’s boxes/drawers. Data mining systems would allow you to find it easily in all of that mess. I am using the term in a slightly different sense. In this case, I am data mining in a manual fashion, a way that an automated system like the NSA employs to dig through your data can not do as easily yet (give it a few years- it’ll be there). Take note, this is something anyone can do, you just need to think outside the box a little bit.

Alright, so back to the story. We’ve established that I like knowing information about people. I decided one day to try to find out whatever I could about Samantha. I knew some things about her, but it was limited. Obviously, I knew that her name was Samantha, but I didn’t know her last name. I knew that her husband’s name was Barry, the position he has where he works, the place where Samantha works, their home state, and that they were big fans of Alabama college football. That, and knowing the stupid dog’s name was all I had.

My first move was to use Facebook’s dream come true for OSINT- the social graph search. It’s impressive… I suggest you check it out. Just do a search for something like “Women under 21 years old who like Breaking Bad and live nearby”. Yeah, so there’s a list of local girls who like Breaking Bad. Creepy, huh? I know. So, I do my search for Samantha and I come up with nothing.

My next move took a little brainstorming, but I decided to change my efforts into finding Barry. Facebook turned up nothing again, so I decided to use the information I had about him to find him on LinkedIn. So, I started my search by looking up employees of the company he works for.

Now, I specified to the city we live in.

Well, hot damn! Alabama logo, and the same position. Must be our guy. Now, this is cool and everything, but his profile doesn’t tell me anything.

This would normally be the end of the road. I wouldn’t be able to get the name because I don’t have LinkedIn’s premium offering on my fake McDonald’s employee account. Darn. Oh wait… I can just look at this nice looking girl on the right hand side’s profile. You notice how it says, “People Also Viewed?” Genius idea, LinkedIn.

Well, who would have guessed that would work? Everything looks good here, now back to Samantha. I went back to Facebook, searched using the last name I just acquired, and what do I find?

Bam. Found ya!

At this point, I just snooped around and looked at the stuff on her profile. Got bored real quick, but decided to click the About tab to see what was on there. Oh hey, thanks for setting your cell phone number to public! Not like I can use it for anything, but still fun to have. I save the number in my phone and call it quits. Just another day finding another person’s social media presence.


She Loves A Man In Uniform

I don’t know what it is, but women seem to universally like a man in uniform. That is, if the uniform isn’t something like a janitor or trash man’s uniform. You never see girls getting all worked up over that. No, the uniform gig is pretty much limited to public service and military. I bet the milk man used to get some action back when those existed, but the point is that the uniform shtick is pretty limited. The amount of desire for those men in uniform isn’t limited, however. It’s no surprise that the guy who lives directly above me who is a cop gets a lot of attention. Oh yeah… he’s a military man as well. That’s like a double whammy right there. He works out, has a dog, and has two uniforms to choose from- the guy’s got it made.

Now that Samantha’s main source of attention is busy chasing another woman, she was in need for a replacement. What better a replacement for her than the aforementioned beefcake? She always had an eye for the guy, but now that JT had moved on to other things, now was the time to up the flirting and small talk. If I’ve learned anything out of this, it’s that having a dog is apparently a great way to meet women. Or is that men? I don’t know, I need some outside confirmation on the matter. Anyways, as her attraction grew, so did her impatience.

Things were at an all-time low with her and Barry. There were talks of kicking him out, but she never went through with it. Maybe it was for the kids? I have no idea, but having a horrible marriage play out in front of the kids is no way to keep them sheltered from reality. Samantha was reaching a breaking point, though. She was unhappy in her marriage and was trapped. What’s a girl to do?

The breaking point came: Samantha could take no more. She needed that feeling of a man wanting her. She needed to know that there was someone out there who could entice her mind, body, and soul. Basically, she had to know what it felt like to have a penis in her face again. She planned, she plotted, and she dreamt of the moment she would make her move on the guy just a few doors down.


The Dirty Deed

Samantha was nervous, naturally. You can’t just go around asking for dudes to bang you when your kids are running all over the place. She came up with a plan- a note! Yes, she wrote a nice message to the officer with her name and number on it and left it on his door. The level of excitement was at an all-time high. She was going through with it. Now, she waited for his response.

It’s late… the bars are closed. Our officer had a bit too much to drink. He comes home, finds the note, and decided to see what that ass had to offer. A few texts, and a few minutes later, Samantha was in his apartment. As the wine starts pouring, the reservations that were still lingering were long gone. As things pickup, Samantha’s phone starts getting calls. No one likes a cockblock, so she turns the phone off. The phone call was from Barry. He woke up and was wondering where she was.

As Samantha is playing cops and robbers with a penis, her husband is trying to figure out where the hell his wife is. Oddly enough, I overheard a conversation between Kimbo’s wife and Samantha earlier in the week that led me to believe that Kimbo’s wife may be on a dating site. I heard some noise outside, so I looked through the front door’s peephole. I see a white man walking out of Kimbo’s apartment, and Kimbo’s wife is in pajamas.

Naturally, my reaction is “Holy shit! Busted!” I open the door to attempt to have an awkward “Gotcha!” moment. It turns out that the man is Samantha’s husband. He had a look on his face that was a combination of tired, angry, worried, and hurt. Kimbo’s wife asks me if I had seen Samantha. I replied with “No, I haven’t seen her today.” The husband, barely acknowledging me, turns around and walks away, continuing his search.

It was at this point that Kimbo’s wife explains the situation to me. I was trying to wrap my head around why she would think it’s a good idea to cheat on her husband while he was right there. At least pick a different apartment building for Christ’s sake! I decided that the best thing I could do in that moment was to grab my bottle of scotch, a pack of cigs, and camp outside until she came out. I see the husband walking all over the damn place with his phone on his ear. Kimbo’s wife is also trying to call and text Samantha to give her the head’s up.

After three hours, Samantha turns her phone back on. She gets the text messages, and decides to make a run for her apartment before her husband saw her. I hear the door open, and feet running down to her apartment, as I see her husband walking around the corner of the building. My face turns into a smile because I believe I am about to witness what I’ve been waiting for- sweet justice.

Samantha barely makes it to the door when Barry’s field of vision around the corner enables him to see her. He yells, “Where the fuck have you been?” She comes back with the most well thought out and flawless reply imaginable, “I was walking.” Yeah, a real genius here. Barry replied back with “WALKING? For three fucking hours? Where the fuck is your phone?”

I couldn’t hear anything else after this point. I stayed outside for a little bit longer hoping for a movie-esque moment with clothes and dishes being thrown out of their apartment. I had no such luck, so I went inside. About an hour later, I go outside to see Samantha and Kimbo’s wife talking kind of far away from our door. At this point, Mrs. Kimbo has informed Samantha that I witnessed the grand escape.

I walk over to them, and Samantha informs me that I am her “most favorite person ever.” That says a lot coming from someone who still has remnants of her affair all over her face. I told her that I would like to take a walk with her, and she commanded me to shut up. This was the beginning of a great relationship for us. From that night on, she makes me a pitcher of sweet tea whenever I want it to keep me from saying anything.


CatFacts

Time rolls on, and I don’t see much of my neighbors due to my ridiculous sleep schedule. There’s the common “Hello,” but not as many conversations or dog powwows. The dog shit is still everywhere, in case you thought that maybe I would get break from that. Also, I got sick the last time I had Samantha’s sweet tea, so I worried that she was trying to poison me. It looked like all of the perks from this situation were gone. I decided to spice things up a bit, so it was time to use her number for fun.

If you have never heard of the CatFacts prank, it consists of sending someone cat facts via text message to annoy the living hell out of someone. Ever since the original post on reddit, I have wanted to use the idea, and now I have a number to use it on. The decision to send CatFacts to Samantha was risky, because I was texting her number without her giving it to me. I figured that she would be freaked out by this. I did it anyway, because #YOLO.

Within 10 minutes of the first text, I got multiple calls from Samantha’s number. My voicemail has no custom message with my voice, so I let it go to voicemail in the hope that I would get an angry message. Although this didn’t happen, I started getting calls from a different number from the same area code. This number belongs to either her husband, or her mom. Her mom was in town at the time, so there’s the possibility that it is her number. In either case, nice to have either of those individual’s numbers for future fun. I got another call from a local area code, which I was able to confirm was her home phone.

Needless to say, she wasn’t finding it funny. I decided to add in the “ROLL TIDE” comment seconds after the glorious upset in the Iron Bowl game. The last text I sent was because I heard her talking outside and wanted to hear her react to it. She didn’t say a word, so I was let down. Friday, around lunch time, I get the common “Who is this?” text from her. I didn’t know what to say, so I decided to give it a rest.


Here’s Johnny!

It was Friday night, and it was time to hang out with a couple of friends at our favorite bar. The crowd was nice, and so were the drinks. After a few hours into the night, I talked to some acquaintances who live above me. I didn’t realize it before then, but this couple that I barely knew were roommates with Samantha’s secret lover. I bring up the infamous night, and I heard the story from the inside perspective.

The depiction of what occurred inside the apartment that you previously read was based off of knowledge I acquired through this conversation. I learned some valuable information that night. Apparently, when the cop opened the bottle of wine, it exploded all over his shirt and the apartment. Looks like he made more than one mess that night. I also learned the officer’s name. His name was Johnny, and he regretted that night a lot. He wouldn’t even reply to her texts.

I didn’t understand why Johnny regretted that night. Samantha’s a decent looking woman, and I can’t imagine things would have gone over that bad. Is it possible that Johnny was having a moral dilemma? I spent very little time thinking about it before the most devilish plan came into my head. Samantha wanted to know who was texting her those CatFacts. What if… it was Johnny? I turn to my friend and ask if he thought I should do this. He was reluctant to decide either way. I made the decision. With my newly acquired knowledge, I took another shot of #YOLO and went for it.

Wait… this is actually working?

Uh… yeah?

There we have it. So, from annoying CatFacts to convincing her that I am the police officer whose yogurt cannon got the Chobani treatment. Her next text was “Tell me what u wanna do…” which led to a very uncomfortable sexting session while still at the bar with my friends. I do have to say, having a friend assist you in sexting a woman who is cheating on her husband while believing you’re someone else is a unique bonding experience. I feel like I can call on that friend to assist in me in the future with just about anything now.


Conclusion

Yeah, I know. You may think I’m an asshole. You may think that doing all of this is very invasive and pretty weird. I’m okay with this. To be honest, sexting a married woman under false pretenses isn’t something I’m used to. Or getting nudes from one. Or getting nudes at all, for that matter. I went a little far with the sexting, but I guess when a woman sends you nudes thinking you are the guy she had an affair with, you’ve already crossed any lines that were there.

I learned some valuable lessons, though. Women in their 30s who text their secret lovers sound exactly like a teenager sexting her boyfriend. Treat neighbors like coworkers: it might be fun, easy, and convenient to screw around, but you’re going to have to deal with the person for a while. Never underestimate the power of some good old fashioned social engineering and OSINT skills. Last but not least, I learned the most important lesson of all- why Johnny never texted Samantha back. She’s smothering me and I didn’t even bang her.


Feel free to contact me at slithering@tuta.io

“Inner freedom is like declaring bankruptcy; what a feeling it is to be removed from all that debt, worry, and hounding from the creditor consciousness.”
— Ren’ee Ruble

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