I was 17-years-old when my ex-friend confessed that wearing protection was a major turn off for him. 

“Why?” I asked. My response made him weirdly chuckle and transfix his eyes on my confused expression; he seemed entertained. 

“Females are bad as **** when they’re not teasers,” he said with a wide smirk. “It’s [sex] good when you feel it.” 

Needless to say, I wish our friendship ended there. It did a year down the line but at that moment, I ignored what he was implying. The nagging unsettling feeling about his statement remained though. A year later I found myself in a position where I stormed out of a room fuming after I caught the guy I was talking to attempting to “stealth” me. 

Stealthing was coined in 2017 by a paper published in the Columbia Journal of Gender and Law who defined it as the “nonconsensual condom removal during sexual intercourse”. This also includes purposefully damaging the condom. Alexandra Brodsky, the author of this publication, noted that the sexual behavior of stealthing is considered “rape-adjacent” because the perpetrator willfully does this without notifying their partner. 

At the time, I attributed my anger towards his blatant disregard of my wishes. I didn’t feel like he violated my consent but rather, he rushed things and lied to me in the process. A part of me rationalized his actions once he apologized and said it was just a misunderstanding. The other part of me felt like I was clear in what I wanted but to avoid the situation altogether, I forgave him.  

Time passed since the incident and even though I felt involuntarily squeamish thinking about it, I still viewed it as harmless.  

But once I started seeing a therapist, I realized a larger part of me internalized my trash-of-a-friend sentiments. My desirability and agency in sexual relationships were defined by others’ wants, not mine. It took years before processing that what happened to me was not a “misunderstanding”—it was attempted assault.  

Even though it’s a relatively new term, the experience is not uncommon. According to a survey led by the Melbourne Sexual Health Center, 32% of women and 19% of men reported having experienced stealthing.   

Intentionally removing or damaging a condom automatically changes the sexual encounter from consensual to nonconsensual, that much is clear. But initially, many may not identify their stealthing as a form of assault.

Rachel Stanton, the Director of Counseling in Boston, notices that stealthing falls under a “gray area” because people tend to characterize sexual trauma as an inherently violent experience like rape. Therefore, stealthing may not be recognized automatically by victims.  

“Essentially, the person who wasn’t consenting is being treated like an object,” Stanton said. “When the person isn’t asking for your permission or consent, it can really lead people feeling dehumanized.”    

Personal sexual gratification is still largely used as an excuse to dismiss their partner’s health and wishes. Justifications for stealthing, because it’s not as recognized, can manipulate survivors to excuse their perpetrator’s behavior. Saying things like “It slipped off,” “I thought you knew,” or “It’ll feel better” are common excuses to dismiss the assault. 

“Many of the victims and survivors will justify the perpetrator’s actions as a way to mitigate what happened,” Stanton says. “[Victims/Survivors] will take the perpetrator’s perspective or what they think is the perpetrator’s perspective into their own kind of losing their own narrative.” 

Stanton says cases like this are often amplified by gaslighting but nonetheless, it’s often left up to survivors to realize that they were violated. The act of self-reflection can feel devastating. The revelation of such a traumatic event can lead to a darker reality where survivors/victims contract STI’s and particularly women, can go through unwanted pregnancies. 

Conversations about how survivors can report stealthing and bring this into the justice system are urging legislators in Wisconsin, New York, and California to criminalize stealthing. As it stands now, only one case of nonconsensual condom removal has made it to court in Melbourne in 2018, according to ABC Life. Some cases have appeared in Switzerland, Sweden, and New Zealand as it becomes more prevalent and recognized as a violation of one’s consent. 

Raising awareness about the dangers of stealthing can also be a chance to examine the ways we understand consent and how it isn’t always defined as a verbal, resounding yes. Stanton said that consent can be non-verbal and revealed through body language, emotional expressions, and clear indicators that both partners are aware and attentive during sexual and intimate encounters.  

“I think sometimes we can sort of go with the flow even though our body doesn’t really want to,” she said. “We walk out of a situation [stealthing] and not feel really clear about what happened then we’re not able to name what it is except that it was really, really bad and I feel weird about it.” 

My encounter with stealthing left me feeling like I was overreacting because I couldn’t identify what was wrong. I was in a rut emotionally and mentally seemingly never reaching a resolution. It spiraled me down a rabbit hole of doubts first and mourning for the loss of my autonomy last.   

Coping with any form of sexual trauma starts with validating your experience and feelings. It takes patience, self-forgiveness, and constantly reminding yourself that your strength and resilience are unparalleled. Stanton said a large part of healing is validating your gut-feelings; if something feels off, honor it. 

“Fully consensual, safe sex is never going to make you feel bad after,” she said. “In the age of gaslighting, always believe yourself.”