Stealthing: Defining Consent and Reframing Condom Removal

CW: Consent violations, as*ault, r*pe

What is stealthing?

Sounds almost like a cool or clever move, doesn’t it? But today’s subject is actually far from it.

Stealthing is the act of a person taking off their condom in the midst of sexual play without seeking consent from their partner to do so and in several cases, without disclosing this decision altogether. The partner often finds out only after the act is complete, or in more grim scenarios, never finds out at all.

A more appropriate name for it in fact, is Non-Consensual Condom Removal (NCCR).

But before we dissect that name, let’s first look at the nuances of consent around condoms.

When engaging in partnered sexual play, you and your partner/s are likely to exchange consent to play with or without condoms.

In the event that you have agreed to play with condoms, you or your partners may discuss using specific types of condoms (non-latex, textured, or ones from a preferred company). Maybe one of you has allergies or sensory preferences, or maybe you just want to try a new type of barrier together.

Now, any sexual interaction in person is likely to bring up a host of other questions and factors as well.

For example:

Is there a possibility of anyone getting pregnant from the type of play that is being considered?

Will contraceptive pills be needed?

What is the likelihood of there being an exchange of body fluids that can increase the risk of infections?

And what are the chances that a partner might express an interest in one act/position and then attempt something entirely different “in the heat of the moment”?

Several layers of safety are considered before, during and/or after sexual interactions, and this is where NCCR manages to violate nearly every single one of them.

Where consent to sex is granted under the condition of there being a barrier in place, especially so that a person does not feel the need to take an emergency contraceptive pill the next day, NCCR is an act that rejects that form of consent and forces a person to have to take a heavy medication that they might have never wanted or otherwise needed to.

NCCR also puts a person at a higher risk of infections and illnesses than the level of risk they might have actually consented to. In a country where regular STI tests are not yet encouraged or made accessible and affordable, NCCR forces a person to undergo tests or seek treatment and post-exposure prophylactic medication that they may not be physically, mentally, socially or financially prepared for. 

And in a culture where we are already conditioned to feel so much shame and guilt around seeking sexual intimacy, NCCR also attacks a person’s sense of security and trust, and violates their right to safely explore pleasure and connections.

That’s why NCCR, through its blatant disregard for the conditions under which consent was granted, is a form of sexual assault— one that has already been accepted as a criminal offence in countries like Australia and Germany, and should be legally identified as such across the globe.

Had we created and maintained a culture of communication and consent, autonomy and respect, NCCR might not have been something a person felt entitled to do.

If the feeling of barriers is uncomfortable or simply not pleasurable, surely that could have been communicated beforehand. And if your partners insist on a barrier anyway, it is on you to respect their need for safety and prioritise it over your preferences for seeking pleasure. Or, simply seek that pleasure and connection ethically from other consenting and informed partners.

If you are driven by the desire to get your partner pregnant or simply wish to feel yourself climax with them and not feel a barrier in place, take a step back and ask yourself why the act of communicating these desires explicitly in a safe and compassionate manner was less appealing than the idea of wilfully deceiving your partner.

If you are seeking control or have a desire to humiliate, degrade or subjugate your partners in a certain way, take a step back again and ask yourself why these desires for control, power or degradation cannot be explored through safe BDSM practices that allow your partner to evaluate the risks involved for themselves and consent accordingly.

What is it about explicit communication, vulnerability about your desires, and the exchange of informed consent in a stable and safe environment that frightens you so much? Where does this notion that one person’s pleasure comes above another person’s safety come from? And how do these ideas affect the way we offer different levels of respect to casual partners, queer and trans partners, sex workers, people with STIs, people with disabilities or chronic illnesses, or partners from different socioeconomic backgrounds?

While there is no shame in being sexually curious, including scenarios wherein accidental harm is caused and hopefully followed by accountability, there is an absolute need to self-reflect and seek community support if you find yourself experiencing desires that involve wilful and active harm caused to others.

No more referring to this act as ‘stealthing’ as if the conversation is just about a fun video game mode. As Michaela Coel’s points out in I May Destroy You, this isn’t ‘rape-adjacent’ or ‘a bit rapey’.

Let’s call it what it really is.

Rape.