Fight Back #73
Feature
Is "Stealthing" Trivial? － The Sexual Violence Invisible to Law and Public Discourse
"He was wearing a condom when he entered, but when he finished, I had no idea when he'd taken it off."
— Monica (pseudonym)
"I didn't give any signal to suggest he was allowed to go without a condom."
— Violet (pseudonym)
"I didn't expect to engage in such an intimate act today. To suddenly violate my will like that—that is, in fact, rape."
— Lily (pseudonym)
"Non-Consensual Condom Removal" (NCCR), commonly known as "Stealthing", refers to a situation where a person agrees to engage in consensual sexual intercourse on the condition that a condom is used, only for the perpetrator to remove it during the act without consent, or to pretend to have put one on (including removing it secretly after initially putting it on).
The Origins of the "Stealthing" Discourse
While the term "stealthing" has circulated on various online platforms for years, it rarely attracted significant public discussion. This changed in 2017 when American legal scholar Alexandra Brodsky published "Rape-Adjacent": Imagining Legal Responses to Nonconsensual Condom Removal. By systematically articulating survivors' experiences, Brodsky explicitly defined NCCR as a form of sexual violence. Her paper became widely cited, laying the groundwork for subsequent public discourse and indirectly prompting California to pass legislation. This reform included "stealthing" in the civil definition of "sexual battery", allowing survivors to sue perpetrators and seek damages.
In recent years, several overseas jurisdictions have amended their laws to provide better judicial protection for survivors of NCCR. For instance, Singapore established a specific provision to criminalise the act; under their law, it is an offence both to remove a condom without consent and to pretend to use one when one is not being used. In Australia, New South Wales specified a definition of "consent" within its sexual offences legislation, using NCCR as a clear example of an act that violates a person's consent and thus constitutes a sexual offence.
Looking at Hong Kong, as early as 2013, local civil society groups conducted a questionnaire on sex workers' experiences with condom use, finding that many had been subjected to NCCR by clients. Beyond the sex work industry, research indicates that NCCR is also common within the local Men who have Sex with Men (MSM) community. These findings suggest that the issue has long existed in Hong Kong. However, the discussion has yet to reach the mainstream. Society remains largely unaware of what "stealthing" is, whether it constitutes sexual violence, its prevalence, and the profound impact it has on those who experience it.
Insufficient Awareness and Public Trivialisation
If a person only consents to sexual intercourse on the condition that a condom is used, any sex that occurs without one—whether the condom was never used, falsely claimed to be used, or removed midway—violates that person’s consent and constitutes sexual violence. However, in our Survey on Non-Consensual Condom Removal and Related Sexual Violence Experiences published in 2025, findings revealed a significant ambiguity in public perception regarding the link between NCCR and sexual violence.
While over 95% of respondents agreed that NCCR violates informed consent, fewer than 75% considered the act to be a form of sexual assault. This gap was most pronounced among cisgender heterosexual men, of whom only 49% viewed NCCR as sexual assault. Furthermore, several survivors in our in-depth interviews admitted they did not initially realise that what they had experienced was a form of sexual violence.
"I thought it was unreasonable for someone to do that without consent, but it never crossed my mind that the act was practically equivalent to rape."
— Junko (pseudonym)
The interviews also revealed that the lack of mainstream awareness regarding NCCR and related sexual offences does more than just hinder the development of support services; it limits survivors' ability to process their own trauma and describe their experiences using a shared local language. For example, one respondent fell into a spiral of self-blame after having experienced NCCR, only finding the clarity to understand their experience and seek support after discovering the term "stealthing" online. By that point, however, much valuable time had already been lost.
"Because this happened to me, I looked it up and learned the term. I didn't know it before, nor did I realise it was... well, a type of sexual assault."
— Marin (pseudonym)
The general tendency of mainstream society to downplay NCCR and the lack of open discussion also lead survivors to believe their experiences are trivial, making it difficult for them to speak out.
"Because no one around me discussed it, and the news is always about... other types of gender-based violence, it made me feel like, 'Is this actually... not that serious?'"
— Kita (pseudonym)
"Firstly, I don't think many people would even count this as sexual violence... If you talk about it, people just say 'you met a total scumbag'. It’s hard to express that deeper hurt when the injury isn't seen as direct, or large, or 'obvious'. It’s difficult to explain. I think it might even be easier to tell people you were forced into sex against your will than it is to explain this [stealthing]."
— Monica (pseudonym)
Defining "Consent" and Clear Criminalisation
Despite respondents feeling that their experiences are invisible or marginalised, the impact remains real. Previous studies have suggested that the impact on survivors of NCCR, including severe emotional distress and sexual health concerns, is similar to that of other forms of sexual assault. The Association believes it is imperative to raise public awareness regarding NCCR, including its prevalence and the harm it causes. We must also strengthen the promotion of resources such as Post-Exposure Prophylaxis (PEP) for HIV. These steps are crucial for deepening public understanding and encouraging survivors to seek help.
Our research also indicates that limitations within existing sexual offence laws make it difficult for survivors of NCCR to obtain effective legal protection, deterring them from seeking justice through the judicial system. One interviewee expressed feeling lost regarding which specific charge the authority could use to prosecute the perpetrator, eventually leading them to abandon the idea of reporting. Others pointed out that the lack of specified legislation undermines a survivor's sense of being a victim and their willingness to seek help. The absence of a clear statutory definition of "consent," which explicitly states that non-consensual condom removal violates informed consent, may lead the public to mistakenly believe such acts are not covered by current laws, thereby underestimating the severity of such behaviour.
"I think, at the very least, when someone experiences this and they are confused and don't know if it was... wrong, the law should be there to help us judge whether our feelings are justified. It’s a powerful form of support."
— Monica (pseudonym)
The Government previously announced a public consultation on the implementation of sexual offence reforms, with the Sexual Offences Legislation (Amendment) Bill 2026 expected to be submitted within this year. The Association believes the authorities should seize this opportunity to clearly state the legal definition of "consent". This should include a non-exhaustive list of circumstances where "consent is vitiated", explicitly bringing the "deliberately violating the consensus on safe sexual practices" into the scope of sexual offences to proactively address NCCR at a criminal level.
Voicing Voices
Excerpts from In-Depth Interviews with Respondents
Boundaries: Protected sex and unprotected sex are two different things
"I was willing to have sex, but I was not willing to have sex without a condom."
— Lily (pseudonym)
"For me, why is a condom so important? Well, besides the prevention of STIs and pregnancy that I just mentioned, there's another layer: it represents a requirement I have for my own boundaries regarding intimacy."
— Lily (pseudonym)
Respect: When I am no longer seen as a "person"
"He didn't discuss it with me... I told him to wear a condom, and he still took it off behind my back. It felt like... like he didn't care about my thoughts or my personal safety at all."
— Marin (pseudonym)
"I really felt like he wasn't treating me as a human being."
— Monica (pseudonym)
The Shadow: A momentary violation with long-term impact
"The reality was far worse than I imagined. Initially, I thought... right, I'll just go for an STI test, take the morning-after pill, and that'll be that. I didn't expect all the inflammation that followed, or that the emergency contraception would mess up my cycle for three months. I had to do STI tests for six months—three separate times. I never saw any of that coming."
— Marin (pseudonym)
"Psychologically, I still have nightmares. I've dreamt several times of a group of people taking off condoms in front of me, or that same man asking me out again and then taking it off... the 'stealthing' scenario has appeared in my dreams so many times."
— Marin (pseudonym)
"My trust in others has diminished. I've realised that since it happened, sometimes in the middle of sex, I'll reach down to feel the person’s penis to check if the rubber ring is still there—to see if he's still wearing it."
— Violet (pseudonym)
"After this incident, I no longer want to hook up with men."
— Lily (pseudonym)
"Part of me wishes that I could talk about this as casually as saying I had my wallet nicked on the bus. I wish everyone just knew that the person did something bad—that they were actually violating your rights. If it could be that casual, without the extra questioning or judgment, or me having to explain so much context... that would be wonderful."
— Junko (pseudonym)
Sharing from Advocates
The Moment "Stealthing" Happens
*Founder of Common6, private shoot model, photographer
In the world of hookups, "using a condom" is generally understood to be the baseline. Even when people discuss whether or not to use protection beforehand, the starting point of that conversation is almost always the assumption that a condom will be used.
When "stealthing" is discussed within the community, it usually only happens when someone finds the courage to speak out. Responses typically focus on the shock that someone would do such a thing, demands to "out" the perpetrator, or urgent reminders to seek emergency contraception and STI screenings. There is rarely much space left for the survivor’s emotional experience. Even those directly involved may not focus on their feelings initially; it can take time to clearly define stealthing as an act of sexual violence.
The belief that no one would knowingly put themselves or others at risk, as well as the shared expectation that protection will be used, it is incredibly difficult to react when a partner suddenly removes a condom during sex.
In that moment, being "freezed" is the body’s instinctive way of trying to stay safe.
As a survivor, I remember fragments leading up to the act, and even during sex itself, where I felt a vague sense that “something wasn't quite right”. But my first reaction was to talk myself out of it—telling myself I was being paranoid or overthinking. Subconsciously, I dismissed my own intuition to maintain the trust we had established. It wasn't until the person had already removed the condom and ejaculated unexpectedly that I realised those "gut feelings" were real.
Because it is impossible to know in the moment whether a partner who has just broken your trust is also a physical threat, "survival mode" takes over. I even found myself smiling and chatting with him, doing whatever was necessary to get through the encounter until I could safely leave. It was only once I was away from that environment and felt secure again that I had the mental space to look back and process what had actually happened.
When facing sexual violence, sometimes the hardest part isn't the event itself, but the fear of not being understood or supported if you speak up. I struggled with self-doubt, wondering if I had done something wrong or "allowed" it to happen by missing the warning signs.
However, after taking the time to settle my thoughts and heal, I now know with certainty: sexual violence happens because a perpetrator chooses to disregard consent and cause harm. I was not at fault.
To anyone who has been through something similar: you are allowed to face what happened in your own time and in your own way. There is no requirement to look back immediately, and you are under no obligation to tell your story. We all have the right to choose who we trust with our experiences and who we allow to support us. That choice is where our power lies.
Male and Transgender Sex Workers and "Stealthing"
*Midnight Blue supports male and transgender sex workers in Hong Kong and is an active advocate of 'sex work is work.'
Sex workers do not sell their bodies; they provide sexual services. Broadly speaking, it is a branch of the service industry. However, when the service involves sexual acts, it involves sexual boundaries. Between a sex worker and a client, two relationships coexist: service provider and consumer, and participants in a consensual sexual act. When conflict arises, it isn't just a labour dispute; it often involves sexual violence.
Before a transaction, terms such as price, time, services, and condom use are usually negotiated. However, during the service, negotiating the consensus is common. A client might demand more intimacy or a lower price; a sex worker might calculate how to get a better tip or retain a regular. Because of this power play, both parties may leave some ambiguity in the transaction. But the process of testing limits can cross a boundary and reduce the safety of both parties. Even with a clear consensus, there are still predatory individuals who intentionally violate boundaries to satisfy their own desires.
Stealthing is a prime example.
Midnight Blue supports male and transgender sex workers in Hong Kong. In stealthing cases, most calls for help come from sex workers, though a few come from clients. Since the community we support consists mainly of gay men and trans women, their feelings and reactions to stealthing differ somewhat from cisgender women—specifically, there is less anxiety regarding accidental pregnancy. However, the fear of contracting STIs/HIV, the feeling of being disrespected, and the grief and anger from broken trust are universal.
From a sex worker's perspective, they are less likely to link their experience to "sexual violence" immediately, but they certainly feel bullied and insulted. Some sex workers prefer to demand a higher fee to compensate for their "loss" (as "bareback" is a more expensive service in the context of sex work); others choose to suffer in silence, viewing it as an "expected risk" of the job (similar to a condom accidentally breaking). When they seek help from us, the most urgent question is usually not how to hold the person accountable, but how to obtain PEP (Post-Exposure Prophylaxis) to reduce the risk of HIV. Even then, they must endure three months of persistent anxiety during the testing window.
The decision not to pursue accountability often stems from a lack of faith that anyone can provide justice. There is a deep feeling that reporting to the police would be futile or would only invite further humiliation. Recognising the nature of stealthing as sexual violence and fighting for legal regulation is the way to ensure sex workers are no longer left isolated and helpless.
Stealthing: The Hidden Crisis in Hong Kong Sex Work
Executive Director, Action for REACH OUT (AFRO)
*AFRO offers services and support to women working in the sex industry in Hong Kong.
"Stealthing" is far from an isolated occurrence among sex workers in Hong Kong. It is a long-standing safety concern that is frequently overlooked by both the public and policymakers.
The moment a sex worker realises the condom has been removed without consent, they are often overwhelmed by shock, anger, and a profound sense of betrayal. They are immediately confronted with a stark and harrowing dilemma: whether to halt the service to protect themselves or endure the violation due to financial pressures and environmental constraints. While some stand their ground and insist the client leave immediately, others feel unable to resist - fearing physical violence or the loss of vital income.
In the wake of such an incident, sex workers face an array of compounding pressures. Initial anxiety about sexual health risks is often followed by deep-seated feelings of shame and self-blame, leading many to obsessively re-examine the encounter. Without proper support, this can result in a loss of professional confidence, a total shift in how they work, or even cause a damaging sense of self-negation and self-worth.
Within the community, perspectives on how to define stealthing vary. Some view it unequivocally as sexual violence, as it violates both consent and bodily autonomy. Others look at it through a labour lens, seeing it as a breach of occupational health and safety where the agreed terms of the transaction were violated. Many workers choose to "keep their heads down" simply to survive, downplaying the incident due to mistrust of the police and the legal system, fear of being "outed" and stigmatised.
In practice, the immediate priority is usually managing health risks: seeking anonymous HIV and STI testing, accessing Post-Exposure Prophylaxis (PEP), and finding psychological support. Reporting to the police or going public is rarely a priority; many feel that "what's done is done" and that speaking out will not change the outcome. In some cases, workers may even internalise the violation, believing that because of the nature of their work, they have no right to refuse or seek justice. Only a small minority choose to report to the authorities in the hope of creating a record or seeking accountability. However, most hesitate due to the discriminatory attitudes within law enforcement—who may deny a sex worker's right to report a sexual crime—as well as concerns over privacy and doubts about whether the law can truly protect them.
Ultimately, stealthing is not just a personal health crisis, it reflects structural gaps in Hong Kong's legal and labour frameworks. To effectively reduce these violations and provide respectful support, the government and relevant authorities must adopt a survivor-centred approach. This requires more than just anonymous testing; it demands clear sexual offence legislation, sensitivity training for the police, public education on sexual autonomy, and a policy-level review to incorporate sex worker safety into broader labour protections. Only then can we reduce the risk of such violations and prevent survivors from suffering further revictimisation.
References
Non-Consensual Condom Removal" (NCCR), commonly known as 'stealthing' (available in Chinese only)
Barriers to Condom Use among Sex Workers (Survey) (2013) (available in Chinese only)
"Rape-Adjacent": Imagining Legal Responses to Nonconsensual Condom Removal