"That was a great dinner," Michael said finishing off his plate. "Thank you very much for inviting me over to dine with you."
Michael had by now met most of the nighborhood and most now new he 'worked nights', though no one had yet figured out at what. The best gossip had him working the European and Japanese stock markets in different time zones. Mrs. Olson had hoped her homemade meatloaf would get him talking about his work but the meal ended up with the Mr. Olson talking about the family vacation last year.
"Here," Michael collected up his plate and caught the good housewife's eye "Let me help with the dishes."
There was a musical sure confidence in the way that Mrs. Olson didn't really hear.
"Of course," she said without any real choice in the matter.
"Should I help?" asked the the husband. He normally didn't help with dishes. The kitchen was crowded enough with just two people and the game was about to start. But it letting the guest help clean up seemed awefully rude. He wondered why his wife had agreed in the first place.
"Oh, no," said Michael with a pleasant smile "You can go watch your game."
The husband instantly turned and went to sit on the couch, which of course annoyed the wife. It brought home the point that he never helped with the dishes.
Michael smiled seeing the expression flit across her face while he gathered the dishes to be cleaned. Start with the small things and work your way up.

Michael washed the dishes while Mrs. Olson dried and put away. She again tried to get a conversation in the direction of what Michael did for a living but somehow it turned around into a discussion about gardening. Michael apparently was impressed by her's and wanted advise to reinvigorate his own, which had suffered from lack of care.
With the dishes done, Michael shook his hands off which got some water on his face.
"Do you mind if I use that towel for a second?" he asked with a polite smile.
"Of course not." she held it out, not expecting him to take it, along with her wrist up to his face. She definitely didn't expect him then bite her wrist but her suprise turned to hazy pleasure instantly. It seemed to last forever but it was over all too quickly. Then, her sense of propriety came back.
"What was that?" she demanded.
"What do you remember it was?" he asked. His voice was casual, like nothing wrong had happened because he knew what had happened wasn't wrong.
Mrs. Olson hesitated looking into Michael's eyes. "You bit me." she replied more calmly.
"No, I asked for your towel because I had soap water on my face. You agreed. It was only polite. So handed it over."
"It felt so strange," the good housewife murmered.
"Yes it did." Michael said with a smile. "You got a small shiver of pleasure when my hand touched yours. And you let my touch linger for a second before letting me have the towel. You thought how nice it was to have me help. You thought how your husband doesn't do it nearly enough, even though you find it an attractive attribute. Correct?"
"Yes," she whispered lost in the power of his eyes.
"There we go," he said satisfied to let her blink again. He wiped off his face and handed the cloth back to the slightly confused look good housewife.
"I'm sorry, but I have to go to work. Can you finish up without me?"
"Oh, of course," she said, still recovering from having her memory tampered with.
"Thanks again," Michael took her hand and gave the back of it a gentile kiss. Mrs. Olson got a small shiver when he did it.
And then he was gone. She looked after him, idlely drying a plate before remembering. "What do you work in?" she called after him. It was too late though. He was already out the door. She would to invite him over again if she wanted to find out.

Not much later, Mrs. Olson's homemade meatloaf came up in a torrent of ground beef and blood. The price Michael had to pay for having his fun.