I set my new camera on the baker's rack in the bathroom, tucking it between a stack of towels and some soap and washcloths. I unfolded one hand-towel and wrapped it around my camera so the lens was peeking out just enough to film both the shower and anybody standing in front of the sink. The camera, even though it was inexpensive, should be able to shoot high quality—and that was important to me.

Earlier today I'd replaced the bulbs in the bathroom so there'd be sufficient light for my candid bathroom shoot. Sweet Sister would take her shower in a few minutes. All I needed to do was flick the camera to the on/lock position and leave it running for an hour. My right eye started its little nervous twitch as I turned to go. Everything looked ready. At nine I closed the door and left.

At a quarter to ten I slipped back into the bathroom and locked the door. The mirror was still steamed from Sweet Sister. I turned off the camera but left the towels the way they were. No sense disturbing things. I slipped my camera into a plastic bag we use to line the wastebasket under the sink and headed off for my room.

I uploaded the video to my computer and pushed the play button. I was anxious for a few minutes before Sweet Sister entered the bathroom and turned on the lights. She was singing a song from choir practice. Thursday night is choir, and even though she is just sixteen, her beautiful soprano voice is welcome in the Cathedral Choir.

My Sweet Sister stopped before the sink and looked into the mirror ... and smiled. She smiled a happy smile. Then she turned aside and smiled a sultry smile, looking over her shoulder through her long blonde hair and half-closed eyelids. Then she produced a shocked expression of joy and silently laughed with a sexy headshake. Sweet Sister was practicing. Next she glared with furious eyes, green-flashing bolts searing the air on their way to the mirror. Finally she dropped her chin and gazed up, a Diana look, crooked her finger and beckoned her image to come join her.

My Sweet Sister tossed her head and shook her long, straight hair so it flew about her like a ride at the fair. Laughing at herself, she began to unbutton her blouse. A pale blue blouse with pearl-like buttons. The camera angle from her left side was able to see her white bra through the gaps between the buttons. She was not a buxom sixteen-year-old, but her breasts were prominent on her lithe figure. Button by button her blouse gapped open until all the buttons were free and there was a six-inch space down her front. She leaned forward into the mirror and flicked at something on her right cheek. Maybe a blemish? Not on my Sweet Sister. Not enough to notice, anyway.

She shrugged her shoulders and the blouse slid down her arms. She raised her left elbow and slid her arm out of the blouse, pointing her bra-clad breast toward the camera, the lace wrinkling with her gyrations. She dropped the blouse off her right arm and tossed it into the corner. Without bending over she pushed the heel of her right shoe off with the toe of her left and kicked the shoe over near the blouse. Then she did the same with her left shoe.

Her skirt came next, a swirl of colors that she unbuttoned and unzipped and dropped to the floor. Reaching down and lifting her right foot, she slipped off her white sock, then her left. She stood before the mirror in her bra and panties. A nice, feminine lace bra and pretty, somewhat conservative matching panties.

I held my breath as my Sweet Sister reached behind her back with both hands to unclasp her bra. It came unhooked easily and she shrugged it forward off her shoulders. A first milky white cone, contrasting with her tanned body, appeared as she leaned forward to catch her bra with both hands. Then she twisted a bit and both white slopes jiggled before the mirror, with perfect pink tips and just the hint of a soft nipple protruding from the pink halo. The bra she folded into itself and set on the counter next to the sink.

She reached up and cupped her breasts with both hands and slowly drew her hands forward as she gently squeezed her fingers against her palms, finishing with both nipples captured in her grip, both pink nubbins stretching toward the mirror. She looked down, in the safety of the locked bathroom, smiled at her body and again cupped her breasts, this time jiggling them up and down. Laughing softly to herself, she danced a few bouncy steps to draw figure eights with her nipples, or circles, or some kind of geometry I couldn't see from my angle.

She reached down with both hands to the sides of her hips and slid her silky, lacy panties down her legs. In profile, her nipples were now more prominent, slightly aroused from her play with them. She turned away toward the tub, her small, tight buttocks white as the cones above them. She tied the shower curtain back and leaned into the tub to turn on the water.

As the water poured into the tub, she walked over to the baker's rack to get a new bath towel. My heart was in my throat. Would she see my hidden camera? After I thought it out, I realized of course she hadn't. I'd heard no scream of outrage earlier. My Sweet Sister, still innocent and pure.

I rewound the video a little and watched as she walked toward the camera, her breasts swaying not quite in unison—one pulling left as she reached out for the towel. Then I realized I had forgotten something else and backed up the scene again and watched as she walked again toward the camera. I couldn't see her lips, but her fine hair was trimmed to a narrow strip, maybe a couple inches wide and three or four inches tall. Her delicate pubic hair would fit easily inside her bikini, not the tiniest bikini on the beach, but one she was comfortable wearing.

When she first got that new bikini, some of her girlfriends teased her and called her a sixties-girl. But she said she didn't need to be nearly naked. She was fine being covered up a bit. She went to the beach with her friends frequently and had a golden tan. The sun brought out faint freckles on her cheeks and the top of her chest and shoulders, but she didn't mind them. They were a part of who she was. My confident Sweet Sister.