April 23, 2025 By Darren L. Ames
When I was a kid, I had this belly that folded when I sat and clapped when I ran. I hated it. Even as a little dude, I knew I didn’t look like the boys in movies. You know the ones—shirtless at a beach, muscles glistening, girls giggling like they just saw magic.
Somewhere along the way, that became the goal. I figured if I could get that body, maybe the world would finally clap for me instead of at me.
So I did it. Over a decade of rice and chicken, of lifting heavy things and sleeping early, of skipping cake even on my birthday. Every inch of fat was replaced with definition. I carved out the abs I used to doodle on my notebook margins.
And then… nothing.
No celebration. No shocked gasps or fingers tracing along the ridges. No girls’ hands sliding down with a whispered “wow.” Just me, pulling my shirt off alone after a workout and catching a glimpse in the mirror. Just me, pulling it right back down before stepping outside.
Because, here’s the kicker: I suck at talking to women.
Not in a “I’m shy and charming” way. In a full-on “I overthink every sentence and spiral into silence” kind of way. I never flirt, never brag about my gym time, and I definitely don’t do the whole ‘shirtless selfie on Instagram’ thing. I can’t even take my hoodie off at the beach without checking that no one’s looking.
So yeah, I’ve had a six pack for years now. Razor sharp. Magazine cover ready. And literally no one has seen it.
Sometimes I lie in bed and imagine someone running their hands over them—not for sex, not even for romance—just for a little validation. Just someone noticing that I worked so fucking hard for something I thought would change how people saw me.
But the truth is, I built it for them… and then never showed anyone. And now I don’t even know if I built it for me.
There’s this weird ache in knowing the one thing I thought would make me feel lovable is hidden beneath my own silence. I used to dream of being seen. Now I dream of being understood.
So, yeah. I’ve got a six pack.
No one’s ever seen it.
But I’m still hoping someday, someone will see me.
