Creative Comedy Project
LUNCH LUST By Allan Payne
INT. SCHOOL DINING HALL. DAY
[LUKE (14) sits alone at the cafeteria table in front of a plate of beans, sausage and chips. His fellow pupils eat, laugh and chat around him. Luke stares down at his lunch. Distraught]
LUKE (V.O): Being 14 is the pits. Everything’s so confusing. My friends confuse me. My family confuse me. My body confuses me, on a daily basis. Then there’s girls! Amie Rhyder, from year 11 in particular; with her nose ring, short skirt, unbuttoned shirt, skinny hips and larger than average sized tits. All my mates are mad for her. I mean, foaming at the mouth, mad for her. Me? I just don’t get it. I tried to get it. I tried to fancy her like everyone else. But I can’t. At first I thought it might be because I was gay. That I liked boys rather than girls. Then one day it clicked. I realised it’s not boys I like. Or girls. It’s women. Real women. Well, one particular woman. Mrs Henderson.
[We see MRS HENDERSON; the large, sweaty, middle-aged, greasy haired dinner lady, shovelling chips]
LUKE (V.O): I dunno what it is I find so...phwoar...about her. She’s not the conventional pin-up, but there's something about her that really gets me going. I dunno if it’s the way she smiles at me when she shovels her anaemic chips onto my plate, or the way her arms flap about like the cheeks of my Great Dane shaking off from the rain, or her enormous breasts that could suffocate a large horse. But, for the first time in my life, I know what it feels like to have love in my heart. Fire in my loins! ‘So why do you look so down’, I hear you ask. Well, this just happened to me, 2 minutes earlier.
[Luke’s in the food-line. He’s next to be served]
MRS HENDERSON: You want extra beans, lovey?
LUKE: Yes please. Thanks Mum!
PUPILS: Ahahah, you called her muuum!
LUKE (V.O): And it hits me like a tidal wave of diarrhoea...Mum. My mum. Her warm eyes, her big flabby arms, the mole on her chin, her...ample...bosom, even the way she plates chips! I feel sick. unclean. I want to rip out my eyes and squash them. I never saw it before, but now...Mrs Henderson...she’s the spit of my mum! I think back to all the scenarios I played out in my head whilst in the shower; Mrs Henderson in high-heels and tight leather, spanking me with a spatula whilst pouring gravy down her honking cleavage. Now all I can picture is my mother! Why? Why is puberty so cruel?! Feeding me a toxic cocktail of hormones, turning my brain to perverted mush. Is this normal? Am I in love with my own mum?! Ahhhhh! Somebody help me, please! (BEAT) Being 14 is the pits. I think it’s probably best I just run away and hide in a cave or something, until all this puberty stuff blows over.
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