This is an erotic story about the weather.
Where 50 shades of grey clouds undulate through the sultry summer sky.
The wind blows, circling and pressing treetops, swaying rhythmically back and forth, up and down, suddenly springing free, erect against the considerable circumference of the earth. The storm clouds swell and heave, bigger and bigger until they burst and rain down on steamy slabs of asphalt. Lightning tentatively strikes. Silver balls of lightning … Oh my … where are they going? Silver balls of lightning … Oh my … where are they going? Holy Cow! The inner Poseidon is doing some hard Roman bathhouse moves.
The thunder rumbles, gradually increasing in pitch; the air quivers and gasps. A sudden flick of lighting hits. Thunder breaks; Its shockwave runs through the earth … the earth convulses and shakes from the assault, and the thunder roars loudly and then recedes softly in the distance. Holy Moses! The inner Poseidon looks up at soft gray clouds.