The trees outside my office, Bradford Pears, smell like sperm when blossoming. A funky spunk that hits you smack in the face when you open the door.
It stops your senses: you pause, then you tentatively sniff just a little, trying to figure out where you’ve smelled that before. They are blooming now and it’s overwhelming. I have to hold my breathe as soon as I open the door, then run across the street before I take another breathe. Some people get allergies. Ahhh, Spring!