It's been so long since anybody posted in here that when I opened the thread the amount of e-dust caused a cyber sneezing fit, but buckle up kids, pervy old Uncle Sc0tt has a story and one hell of a new file for you.
Note: this backstory is likely gonna get hella long because this was a difficult catch, and I'm pretty damn proud of how I got it to happen. For anyone who doesn't care about such things or doesn't remember this thread, all you really need to know is that this file contains 20 minutes of my upstairs neighbour wanking like her life depends upon it, and you should go listen. For everyone else, buckle up.
It's been a long time since I caught anything worth posting from Rachel who lives in the flat above me. Her job still involves a lot of traveling and there are stretches of time when she's not home at all. Add to that the inconveniently irregular routine of the other couple in the building and it simply hasn't been safe to leave a recorder unattended for any stretch of time. On the very rare occasions that I'm home, she's home and I can be sure enough that the other couple are settled in for the evening to risk it, I've been trying my luck, but the captures have mostly been mediocre - short bursts of solo activity which are mostly marred by noises from other flats or the street outside. Tonight however, I got lucky against the odds.
Stacey has been staying for a couple days (see my thread in the members forum if you don't know who she is), and when I got home earlier this evening I found her chatting to Rachel in the hallway. The tail end of their conversation was enough to inform me that Rachel was heading out on a third date with high hopes for this potential suitor. I wished her well, then spent the first part of the evening begrudging that I probably wouldn't get an opportunity to listen in if she got lucky. Consoling myself that at least I might get to hear a few snatches of any action from the room below, I got on with my evening. Time passed, and by 1am I figured it was safe to assume that she wasn't coming home. That in itself was a good sign of things to come at a more convenient time, so all in all, things were peachy. Of course, that assumption turned out to be wrong 15 minutes later when Rachel returned home... alone.
Well now, that presented an interesting dilemma. On the one hand I had a rare chance to potentially capture some solo activity when the street outside would be quiet and I could be confident that the recorder wouldn't be disturbed by the comings and goings of my other neighbours. On the other, I had Stacey (who is utterly unaware of my hobby) to entertain, and no plan in place for such an eventuality. Fortunately, Stacey solved one half of the problem by running out of tobacco. Being the gentleman I am, I offered to go out and fetch her some thinking that I could drop the recorder on the way. But how? Anybody walking up the stairs in this building is clearly audible from within my flat (hence me being able to tell that Rachel had returned home alone), and I still had no reason to go to the floor above. Thinking fast, I accidentally (on purpose) knocked over and broke a glass whilst getting togged up to brave the cold. Stacey offered to clear that up whilst I went on a baccy run for her. Clearing it up involved a quick bit of hoovering, and hoovering is noisy enough to cover over careful footfalls on those stairs... see where I'm going with this?
Off I trotted, taking the opportunity to drop the recorder on the way out. Now, how the hell was I supposed to get it back? Rachel often lays in bed watching tv for quite a while before she sleeps so I needed to leave it there for some time, and I had the added problem that Stacey is a very light sleeper, so the chances of me slipping out of bed and being able to collect the recorder in the dead of night unnoticed were slim. Urging my brain to shift into gear as I trudged through the cold, I had an idea. In my line of work, (people often end up working unsociable hours to keep costs down. I know plenty of other people who do what I do, and the hellish hours combined with a general lack of organization amongst so-called creative types makes us a motley crew of loners with confused body clocks. I decided to base my cover story around that. So, I set two calendar appointments on my phone for 02:53 and 02:54 (enough time for a decent shot at capturing action on the recorder, but avoiding landing exactly on the hour so as to not look staged), then I temporarily changed my alert tone for calendar events to match the sound that plays when I receive text messages. When I got home, I proposed taking a film to bed, making sure that the volume was loud enough to cover over noise from outside. For good measure, I used being cold from my jaunt outside as an excuse to closet us in the bedroom with the boiler on (an extra source of noise), closing the door to keep the heat in (and stop the sound of us watching a film from being audible on the recorder in the hallway). Then I settled down with Stacey to watch the film, and waited for her to doze off. When the first fake text came, in, I ignored it. When the next one arrived, I grudgingly checked my phone and muttered grumpily to a sleepy Stacey about someone dropping a set of keys off for the space I was working in the next day. She was half asleep by this point, and hasn't yet asked for any detail, but I've got someone who she'll almost certainly never meet ready just in case she remembers me slipping out and asks tomorrow. After collecting the recorder, I poked my head around the bedroom door to find that she'd already drifted back to sleep, so I figured now was as good a time as any to check the footage and post the result.
Long story short, turns out that I'm a social engineering menace when the need arises. Boom. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to accidentally (on purpose) wake Stacey up for another 20 minutes...
