Free Refuge by Andrew Brown

satisfying either himself or the object of his desire, left him feeling depressed.
    Sex with Amanda tended to be undemanding. They chose comfortable positions, kept petting and foreplay to a minimum and moved from arousal to climax to book-reading with seamless ease. He had tried to talk to her about it, starting to stumble over an explanation of his needs. But looking up at her he had sensed the word ‘pervert’ on her mind, her frown deepening with mistrust. On the occasions that his endeavours in bed let him down, Amanda would neutralise the situation. ‘Stressful time in the office?’ she’d ask, before turning over to reach for her latest plumped-up novel. There was something dismissive lurking within her swift acceptance. The ease with which she turned away suggested that she anticipated little else. Or did not really care. Familiarity made sex as much a domestic chore as washing up; if it did not need to be completed, then there was little to be mourned.
    He longed for both the physical and emotional excitement of their first few years together. She had been the first woman with whom he had had a serious relationship. Before her there had been a series of groping trysts that had ended within weeks, or days, with tearful hugs and unheeded promises of friendship. His girlfriends had tended to be younger than him, bowed by his intellect and roguish good looks, and he quickly bored of their tittering acquiescence. He was unprepared for the assertive personality of Amanda. She had challenged him at a student council meeting at university, openly expressing her misgivings about his contentions, but without resorting to personal slights. He was immediately scared and captivated by her. His witty responses and charming winks fell unnoticed at her feet while her scathingly clear arguments undermined his position in front of the student committee members.
    After the meeting he had watched her as she packed her papers away. While slovenliness was seen as a virtue among most students, her clean blonde hair had been brushed and styled, falling luxuriantly across the nape of her neck. He noticed that her slim fingers ended in neatly filed nails, painted with clear varnish. When she had argued with him, her eyes had been hard-set and her facial muscles firm, but when she saw him half-watching her she smiled. She walked across the room, put out her hand and said, ‘Amanda Greeves. Why don’t you pick up the pieces of your ego and I’ll buy you a drink?’
    It was that edgy straightforwardness that had both attracted him and made him miserable in the beginning. She did not kowtow to him, did not let his unthinking comments pass by without being tackled. She demanded forthrightness in a manner that he found intimidating. He had passed his first few years at university by fudging views and substituting clarity with charm. Amanda demanded logic and sincerity instead, virtues that he had found hard to achieve. Their physical relationship had been equally challenging. She voiced her needs with assertion. She would tell him what she felt like doing, what she thought would be interesting to try, and expected him to have the same adventurous demands. Some days she would arrive home grumpy and tired, take off her clothes and lie down on their bed, saying, ‘Just fuck me, okay?’ Other days she would sneak up behind him in the cafeteria, pinch his buttock cheek and whisper something outrageous before wandering off in search of a plate of food as if nothing had been said, leaving him flustered and aroused.
    Richard wondered whether having a child had been the turning point. They had carried on making love with vibrancy throughout the pregnancy. He had been unrelentingly aroused at the sight of her smooth, swollen belly and its sharp fall towards her pubic hair. The need for restraint in the last month had only made the sex more erotic and explosive. But when their daughter Raine had been born, he was overwhelmed by the responsibility and