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Kelly McWilliams, 32, was shocked when her son asked her for girls' underwear but never imagined the tragic outcome,

Peeking out from behind a book, my little boy looked up at me. "Why do volcanoes explode, Mum?" Cameron asked. I smiled as usual, used to his ceaseless questions.

Out of five kids, he was the one we would always find reading a book while the others ran around the garden.

But Cameron, then eight, was also a big softy. He loved to sit on the couch with me and his Dad, Chris, 41, and watch a film together. And if he ever had any problems, he would always confide in me. Cameron could talk to me about anything.

So when I found him fast asleep in bed wearing his older sister's silky peach knickers, I was shocked. He'd never mentioned doing this.

The next day, I waited until Chelsea, 16, and my youngest three, twins, Bradley and Ebony, seven, and four-year-old Christopher were busy, before I had a chat with Cameron.

"I noticed you were wearing Chelsea's knickers last night," I said. His little face crumpled.

"Are you cross?" he asked. "Not at all, love," I said. "I just wondered why?"

Cameron looked down. "I like silky and lacy things," he said. "They feel nice next to my skin."

I smiled, gave him a hug and told him it was fine but probably best not to wear his sister's underwear in case she got upset.

He pleaded with me not to tell anyone and I promised that only me and his dad knew.

Later that night, Chris and I talked and decided he was probably just experimenting. Cameron was too young to understand the implications of wearing women's underwear.

But a few months later he handed me a letter. "Read this later, Mum, when no one is around," he said. That evening when all the kids were in bed, I opened the letter.

It read: "I really do want to wear some girls' pants. I don't want to wear them all the time but I would like some."

I knew I couldn't ignore the problem. He'd obviously been thinking about it a lot.

The next day Chris and I sat down with Cameron. "Is this very important for you?" I asked.

He gently nodded his head. "I like the feel of them," he whispered. Then he looked up at me.

"Will you buy me some Mum?" he asked. I had been dreading that question. We told him we'd think about it. I was sure he would grow out of it.

But in the meantime I worried that stealing his sister's would cause a family row. It was a hard decision, but in the end I went to Asda and bought him a pack of three silky knickers.

His eyes lit up when I gave him them that night. "You must only wear them in the house," I explained.

I didn't want anyone else to find out what he was doing. Cameron promised to only wear them in bed under his pyjamas. "I'll tell you when I'm going to put them on, Mum."

True to his word, about once a month, Cameron would tell me he was wearing knickers as I tucked him into bed.

The next day, I would wash, dry and put them away in his drawer.

Most of the time Cameron, carried on as normal. He was getting older, and taking more of an interest in girls.

Whenever Chelsea had her friends over, he'd hang around, flirting in his own cheeky way.

By the age of 10, Cameron even had a girlfriend. He bought her a card and a little present on Valentine's Day, and they went to the school disco together.

But in February this year, he came and talked to me. "I would like to know what it's like to wear make-up," Cameron said.

I took a deep breath. "That's something you'll have to decide on when you get older," I said. Cameron just said: "OK Mum."

But a few days later he surprised us, saying: "Loads of teenagers are killing themselves in South Wales. Why would they do that Mum?"

"I'm not sure," I answered cautiously. It wasn't healthy for a 10-year-old to be so interested in something so tragic.

That weekend Chelsea was staying out, so we said he could sleep in her bigger room and play on the Xbox.

About 11pm, I crept into the room to turn the TV and light off. "Night night, love you," I told him softly. But just after 3am, I noticed Cameron's TV was still on.

"Little monkey," I thought. "He's turned it back on and fallen asleep watching it."

As I walked into the room, I thought I saw his dressing gown hanging in the window, behind the curtains.

I looked towards the bed and realised that Cameron wasn't in it.

Without thinking, I walked to the window and touched the dressing gown. It was then I realised it was Cameron.

He was hanging from the curtain pole.

Instinctively, I screamed for Chris.

Within seconds he was in the room.

He ran straight to Cameron and lifted him to release the tension of the belt from around his neck.

He pulled it off him, and laid Cameron on the floor. His little body was cold and going blue.

"No," I cried. "We've got to help him."

I ran to the phone and dialled 999. Chris followed the operator's instructions, trying chest compressions as we waited for the paramedics.

At the hospital, medical staff worked on Cameron for 45 minutes before a doctor came to see us. He was gone. In that split second, my world fell apart.

I collapsed into Chris's arms. "How could this happen," I sobbed. It made no sense.

Cameron was just a little boy.

I held Cameron's hand and kissed his cheek. "Mummy and Daddy love you so much," I said, tears streaming down my face.

Consumed with grief, we barely managed to get through the next few days. It was hard to come to terms with what Cameron had done.

The coroner recorded a suicide verdict but I find it hard to accept he killed himself.

He was really happy the night he died. I struggled to believe it was because he was worried about wearing women's underwear and make-up.

The children cry at the thought of never seeing their brother again. There isn't a day that goes by when I don't sit and sob.

We all miss Cameron so much and I don't know how we will ever get over the pain of losing him.

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