There are a fair few large knockered women working in the office lately. From time to time they have to come over to my desk to ask questions or use the photocopier which is quite near me. I always take these opportunities to have a good blimp. There is a great deal of pleasure and satisfaction to be derived from having a cheeky shufty at a bra clad bap which is on show due to ill fitting clobber. Taking advantage of that bit of clothing known as the 'Gap of Plenty' is top nosh, innocent fun. You know the bit I mean. That gap between the second and third buttons on her shirt that offers a knob twitching glimpse of the knockers top half, and very occasionally the nip. It's interesting that this sort of surreptitious blimping can score as high on a semi-on-monitor as the more graphic representations of ladies bits. I imagine a lot has to do with the 'getting away with it' factor. I'm a perfectly happily married man, but i'm a firm believer that you should always stay on top of the skills that kept your wan-k bank fully stocked during lean spells in singly years. I'm obviously never going to discard a skill that was learnt in 1st year of secondary school, when Mrs Long my maths teacher was always bemused about the amount of times I came up to her desk for help with a problem. I don't bring this subject up to highlight my sad blimpage obsession, but rather to mention an unfortunate character in the office. He simply cannot blimp without getting caught. I've seen it with my own eyes. A talent I consider rudimentary is beyond him. One of the girls from accounts came over before to ask about some discrepancy in a report i'd filled out. Dave was with me at the time. Within 8 seconds of her getting to my desk, i'd had a good look down her top and established that she had a nice red bra on, with some sort of crocheted flower between the cups. The top half of her knockers were pleasant, but a little bit too moley for my liking, and she looks like she may have put a bit of beef on recently as there was a definite bit of overspill. After i'd had my fun, I continued with the conversation, only to find her giving Dave a very cool stare. I stopped talking and even I caught him blatantly having a look. She was pretty good about it and simply said, "Give me a shout when your finished, Dave." As his entire swede went red, from the collar up, I exchanged one of those, 'what are people fcuking like' glances with her. She wandered off and I conducted the post mortem with Dave. "Fcuking hell, mate. Couldn't you have made it a bit less obvious?" "I saw you looking, so I didn't think she'd catch me. Anyway, you've had army training." When I stopped laughing at the idea of official blimpage training during basic, I wondered had anything i'd done in the army prepared me for this life of snidy gawping at womens udders. As for Dave, he's a hopeless fcuking case. He can't even do distance ones. Yesterday there was a woman getting stuff off the bottom shelf of the stationery cupboard. She was offering a fantastic view of a shapely, trouser-clad arrse. We were all having a good look, but as she started to rise, we went back to work. There was at least a six second warning, but by the time she'd turned round, Dave was still staring like a fcuking Gollum. Bright red neck, flustering with papers and apologies as she fcuked off, tutting. I would be eager to hear of any other hopeless blimpers, but more importantly of any techniques or schemes (not including sunglasses) that male arrsers use to further the cause.