I'm a huge fan of reading in bed. It's comfy, warm, and the blankets conveniently conceal any unsightly erections. The problems are twofold: Firstly, while one may for short spells prop one side of the book against the mattress, page turning and light distribution dictate that there must be a continual supporting of the book in the air, which means continually lifting a solid object, which means rapid buildup of tedium and unfulfilled laziness. This can lead to shorter reading times, regular resting spells, and frustrated bouts of distracting masturbation. The second issue is much more simple: lying down induces sleep. While sleep obviously has its own merits, they pale in comparison to reading, as I must confess the beauteous words of Dickens or Hitchens overshadow even the most orgastic wet dream. (Excepting perchance the inevitable meeting of the two, which I eagerly await.)
So I find myself wishing to prop myself up, and as my own muscular power is inarguably out of the question, I find myself turning to that most soldierly of all sitting devices, the ever standing chair.
Wood is out of the question. Too hard and unforgiving; more fit for court than courting, and reading is no doubt a romantic endeavor. Size is certainly to be considered: I have but one small room with reasonable solitude and acceptable silence, and as it also houses my bed, desk, books, and refrigerator, I am in need of something of acceptable economy.
Being the corporate cloth that I am, soaked with water to be wrung back into the same bucket, I looked to my workplace first. What I found seemed quite fitting, it being this little brute:
Low, soft, and composed entirely of materials more squishy than my own buttocks, I thought it to be a work of art. I have often thought the best reading surface would be a gigantic bare breast, assuming of course a non-sweating variety, upon which I could lounge at my own leisure, leaning upon the politely yielding nipple as I explored the worlds that words had to offer, but while this is an utter impossibility, I find the black leather buttock chair to be the closest possible surrogate. The only problem pertains to the aforementioned buttocks: namely, their propensity to slide. In order to avoid such a slouching fate, one must kick and pound the back of the chair, forcing the particles inside to the bottom, resulting in a locking death-grip that holds one upright as if awaiting liftoff.
Acceptable, but in need of maintenance.
Thus, I moved to another experiment: the saucer chair.
Originally invented by sea-faring natives through slaughtering a giant tortoise and propping its shell on a lashed stick frame, this design has come a long way. At first glance, it seems the hard ringed edge would provide an unpleasant pressure point, but thankfully, it does not. The soft cloth bottom cradles you like a partial womb, and the slightly tilted angle positions you perfectly for both light and elbow-propped book suspension. The only issues encountered so far are that I some times am not sure what to do with my feet. I initially just let them hang there, or rest on the floor, but my spider-monkey instincts lead me to periodically attempt to fold them under me, or at least hook them on the bottom edge, neither of which is strictly possible. While this is a slight matter of concern, it is quite possibly simply an instance of needed conditioning. We shall see.
(I've often been tempted to try out the outrageously gigantic Sumo Bean Bag, but am not quite financially capable of spending three hundred dollars on a reading chair, no matter how breastlike.)
So...what's your favorite reading chair?
