Jake The Scalper (prologue)

My name is Jake—well, actually Jakaria, but everyone in Jakarta calls me Jake. Just like millions of other guys in this chaotic, traffic-choked city, I wake up every morning to the sound of motorbikes honking outside my small rented room in Tebet. I brush my teeth while scrolling through Instagram, drink kopi hitam from the warung downstairs, then squeeze into a crowded MRT or online car to get to my office in Sudirman. I work as a graphic designer for a mid-sized advertising agency, spend eight hours pretending to be normal, chat with colleagues about football and weekend plans, then come home, cook instant noodles or order GoFood, and scroll through my phone until I fall asleep.

On the surface, I’m completely ordinary. Twenty-six years old, single, pays taxes, complains about macet every single day. But every person has a secret. A weakness. A hidden part of themselves they would rather die than let the world see.

Mine is hair.

Long, beautiful, feminine hair.

Especially when it’s tied up—ponytail, bun, kuncir, konde—anything that gathers and displays that thick, silky mass in one tempting bundle. The way it sways when a woman walks. The way it shines under the afternoon sun when she rides a scooter with her hair flowing out from under her helmet. The way the strands catch the light and move like living silk.

I’ve known this about myself for years, but the older I get, the more dangerous this obsession becomes. If anyone ever found out how deep this goes… how much power a simple ponytail has over me… my life would be over. Reputation destroyed. Social life finished. Maybe even my career.

Because this isn’t just a mild preference.

This is a fetish that controls me.

It was a humid Monday evening in Jakarta. The rain had just stopped, leaving the streets wet and the air thick with the smell of asphalt and fried street food. I was sitting alone on my small balcony, smoking a cigarette while watching the city lights flicker on. My mind, as usual, began to drift.

I thought about the girl I saw this morning at the MRT station. She had jet-black hair that reached her waist, tied in a high, tight ponytail that swung heavily with every step she took down the stairs. The thick tail brushed against her back, sometimes sticking slightly to her white blouse because of the sweat. I couldn’t stop staring. My body reacted instantly, the same familiar heat rushing downward. I had to force myself to look away before she noticed.

That’s how it always starts.

I took a long drag from my cigarette and exhaled slowly into the night air.

“Fuck…” I muttered to myself. “Why does it have to be this?”

I’ve tried to fight it. God knows I have. But every time I see long hair being tied, untied, brushed, or even just resting heavily on a woman’s back, my mind goes blank and my body betrays me completely. It’s been like this since I was a teenager.

And the worst part?

I know exactly when it all began.

I flicked the cigarette butt into the ashtray and leaned back in my chair, staring at the dark sky above the concrete jungle of South Jakarta.

This story… my real story… started more than ten years ago.

In a small house in Bandung.

With my aunt.

I was fourteen years old back then, living in a modest two-story house in Bandung. My parents were both working late shifts, so my Aunt Rina—my mother’s younger sister—often came over to look after me. She was in her late twenties, still single, and had this calm, gentle personality that made her easy to be around. But what always caught my attention was her hair.

Aunt Rina had incredibly long, thick black hair that reached well past her waist. During the day she usually kept it in a neat, traditional-style bun high on her head, almost like a samurai’s topknot. It looked heavy, dense, and perfectly round — a dark, silky globe that made my young heart beat faster every time I saw it.

That particular night, my parents were away until late. Aunt Rina and I were sitting on the floor in the living room, watching television. The movie playing was The Last Samurai. The room was dimly lit, only the blue glow from the old CRT TV illuminating our faces. We were both sitting cross-legged on the thin carpet, sharing a bowl of keripik singkong.

Aunt Rina was completely absorbed in the film. Her eyes were glued to the screen, and I already knew what that meant. When she was focused like this, the world around her practically disappeared. She had once told me stories about how her friends in the kost used to prank her while she was sleeping or deeply concentrating — drawing on her face, putting things on her head — and she wouldn’t wake up or notice at all.

I didn’t understand why my body reacted the way it did when the scene came on.

It was Taka — the beautiful Japanese widow — bathing in a wooden tub. Her hair was initially tied up in a traditional bun, but then she slowly let it down. Long, dark strands cascaded down her back like liquid silk, wet and glistening under the soft lantern light. The camera lingered on her bare shoulders and the way her hair clung to her damp skin.

I felt it immediately.

A sudden, powerful rush of heat surged into my groin. My penis stiffened rapidly inside my shorts, becoming painfully hard within seconds. I shifted uncomfortably, trying to hide it by pulling my knees closer to my chest.

Then the scene changed.

A captured samurai was being humiliated. One of the soldiers grabbed his long topknot and sliced it off with a sharp blade. The thick bundle of hair fell to the ground. For some reason, that image burned itself into my brain. The contrast between the proud warrior’s hair being forcibly taken… it did something strange to me.

My heart was pounding.

I glanced at Aunt Rina. She was still completely focused on the movie, her back straight, unaware of anything else. Her own hair was styled in that perfect, tight bun — high and round, just like the samurai in the film. The black strands looked so smooth and dense under the TV light.

I couldn’t resist.

Slowly, I stood up, my legs slightly shaky. I moved quietly behind her. From this angle, her bun looked even more tempting — full, heavy, and perfectly formed. My hands trembled as I reached out.

At first, I only brushed it with my fingertips. The texture was incredibly soft, yet thick. A shiver ran down my spine. Emboldened by her lack of reaction, I placed my entire palm on top of the bun and gently pressed it. It felt warm from her body heat. So full. So heavy.

Then I gripped it.

My fingers closed around the thick bundle of hair, squeezing it softly. I could feel the sheer volume and weight in my hand. My erection was now throbbing hard, pressing painfully against the fabric of my shorts.

Aunt Rina didn’t move. Her eyes stayed fixed on the screen.

With my heart racing, I carefully pulled out the hairpin that held her bun together. One by one, I removed the pins. Suddenly, the tight knot loosened. Her long, beautiful black hair spilled down like a dark waterfall, cascading heavily over her shoulders and back, reaching all the way to her waist.

The scent of her shampoo — something sweet and floral — rose up and filled my nose. I stood there frozen, staring at the gorgeous sight of her now-loose hair.

Still, she said nothing. She was completely lost in the movie.

I carefully placed the hairpins on the floor beside her, my hands shaking with excitement and fear. My breathing had become heavy. The combination of the movie scenes and the feeling of finally touching her hair had me completely overwhelmed.

Just as the movie credits began to roll, Aunt Rina stretched her arms and let out a soft yawn.

“wow, what a great movie,” she said softly, her voice sleepy. “Jake, it’s getting late. Let’s sleep, okay?”

She reached beside her, picked up the hairpins I had left there, and casually gathered her hair again. In one practiced motion, she twisted it back into that same high, tight bun, securing it firmly.

I could only nod, my face burning, my body still aching with arousal.

“Yes, Bi…”

She smiled at me innocently, completely unaware of what I had just done behind her.

We moved to the bedroom shortly after. The house was quiet, with only the distant sound of crickets and occasional passing motorcycles outside. Aunt Rina had already changed into her sleeping clothes — a simple loose t-shirt and a long batik sarong. Her hair was still neatly tied in that high, tight bun, the same samurai-style knot that had started this fire inside me.

We slept on a big mattress laid directly on the floor, side by side. I lay on the left, she on the right. The room was dark except for a small night lamp in the corner that cast a soft orange glow. I pretended to close my eyes, but sleep was the last thing on my mind.

Minutes passed. Maybe thirty. Maybe an hour.

Aunt Rina’s breathing had become slow and deep. She was facing away from me, lying on her right side. Even in the dim light, I could see the perfect round shape of her bun resting heavily on the pillow. It looked so full, so tempting.

I knew her secret: when she slept, she slept like the dead. She had told me many times how her friends used to prank her in the kost — drawing on her face with marker, putting ice on her neck, even placing a dead cockroach on her forehead — and she wouldn’t wake up until morning.

Tonight, I was counting on that.

My heart hammered in my chest as I slowly turned toward her. I inched closer until my face was just inches from the back of her head. The sweet scent of her hair filled my nostrils again. My hand trembled as I reached out.

At first, I only touched the bun lightly with my fingertips, tracing its smooth, rounded surface. It felt warm. The hair was tightly packed, yet incredibly soft. My erection, which had never fully gone down since the movie, throbbed painfully again.

I grew bolder.

I placed my entire palm over the bun and gently squeezed it. The sheer thickness and weight of her hair made my breath catch. I kneaded it slowly, feeling every strand compressed under my fingers. My other hand moved down to adjust myself inside my shorts — I was rock hard.

“God… it feels so good,” I whispered almost silently.

Still, she didn’t move.

Emboldened, I carefully pulled out the hairpins one by one. There were four of them. Each time I removed one, more of her long black hair loosened. Finally, I tugged gently at the base of the bun.

Her hair spilled free.

A heavy, silky waterfall of jet-black hair cascaded down her back, spreading across the pillow and brushing against my face. It was even longer than I imagined — thick, shiny, and fragrant. Some strands fell over her shoulder and onto my arm. The sensation of her loose hair touching my skin sent electric shocks through my body.

I buried my face into the loose mass of hair, inhaling deeply. The scent was intoxicating — a mix of her shampoo, a faint trace of coconut oil, and her natural feminine smell. My penis was leaking now, making a wet spot on my shorts.

For the next twenty minutes, I played with her hair like a man possessed. I ran my fingers through the full length, feeling its incredible softness. I gathered large handfuls and pressed them against my face, my neck, even my chest. I wrapped strands around my fingers and gently tugged, enjoying the resistance.

At one point, I pressed the thickest part of her hair against my erection through my shorts, rubbing slowly. The warmth and softness nearly made me lose control.

Aunt Rina remained completely motionless, breathing steadily, lost in deep sleep.

I grew even riskier.

I moved closer until my body was almost spooning her from behind. My face was buried in her now-loose hair while my hand continued stroking and caressing the long strands. I could feel the heat radiating from her body. My hips moved involuntarily, pressing my hardness against the back of her thigh through our clothes.

The sensation was overwhelming. The combination of her sleeping vulnerability, the sheer volume of her beautiful long hair, and the taboo nature of what I was doing pushed me to the edge.

I didn’t dare go further than that. Not yet.

Eventually, exhaustion and satisfaction washed over me. With my face still nestled in her silky black hair, I finally drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep.