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Standing in the smoke-filled pandemonium of an Istanbul nightclub, I nursed a drink that tasted worse with each sip. As my Spring Break eased into its final hours, I danced awkwardly to the peculiar blend of American dance hits and European house music. From across the elevated table, I tried to ignore the Turkish teenage millionaire entertaining us for the night. Perhaps provoked by a momentary lapse in reservation or maybe just making casual conversation, he smiled at me over his cigarette and said, "I hear blue-eyed blonde girls in America are usually virgins." Before I could divert attention from my resemblance to this description, he chuckled, "Is this true?"

Back in the United States, where such questions are regarded as inappropriate at best and pretty friggin' sketchy at worse, I can't help but dwell on the hypothetical scenario such an absurd question provoked. Writing this column on my 20th birthday (please admire my dedication here), I'm trying to calculate what such a substantial part of life would look like if sex were not part of the equation. Unfortunately for my purposes, virginity isn't a box you check on your admissions application or the unifying identity of a group lobbying for equal representation on campus. Although there are plenty of 20-something virgins running around this school, I don't have the necessary Turkish forwardness to demand an explanation for their decisions. And although I feel pretty comfortable assuming no one sits on their deathbed wishing they had spent more time having sex, polling telemarketers have trouble tracking down the deceased.

I'm left to make theoretical presumptions: What if we removed sex from the picture? What would our lives be like if on our average Friday we stumbled home from the bar to sleep alone in our beds, sparing our roommates an uncomfortable familiarity with the common room couch? What if every date function ended with a cordial handshake? What if drunken propositions stopped flooding our inboxes and we checked our phones compulsively for Sunday afternoon invitations to the soda shop? Life without sex seems less interesting. Would it be less fulfilling?

Sex has helped me write this column, but sex remains one of the least compelling things about me and about anyone else. At the end of the day, the hook-ups of the past collect dust and the line between having sex and not appears increasingly irrelevant. If I were sentimental, I might say you want to be with the one person who makes sex immaterial, but I'm not sure I'm that romantic.

So what if blue-eyed, blonde Americans were all virgins? Can you make sense of your life without analyzing your sex life? If sex is the question, what is the answer?

Brooke Hartley is a Trinity sophomore. Her column runs every other Thursday.