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|Item Specifics - Books
||ISBN : Deleted|
Author : Jim E. Dickson
The Story Of Gerda (Book One) Jim E. Dickson Author, First Edition September 1982. Published by ATOMAGE. This book was subject to Seizure by The UK Police this copy was purchased before that seizure a
Lot # 18850355
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The Story Of Gerda (Book One) Jim E. Dickson Author, First Edition September 1982. Published by ATOMAGE. This book was subject to Seizure by The UK Police this copy was purchased before that seizure and case took place. This book is available today only in a new format, with different front cover, but is not the same in any measure, this copy is the only one of the original first edition I KNOW OF IN EXISTENCE today, much has been made that a copy sold on eBay, however, eBay has banned this book from being sold on its site and it would be against their terms and conditions to do so, my own copy was pulled at £8.00p value. I doubt you will find this first edition in unread condition anywhere else, probably in this world, as such, to a collector it would be of enormous value, therefore I am asking a reasonable price.
Please email me to receive pictures of the book taken by myself using my Nikon Camera, these pictures you will find nowhere else on the internet. The pictures will be watermarked and date stamped. The cover picture is available from the Atomage site. I know of no other pictures available on the internet of any original first edition.
The book itself is unread, has the original cover, although this is slightly creased and a little scuffed or shelved. It is also unabridged and is in totality uncensored, I do not have a modern copy of this book but suspect it is abridged. This copy contains 304 page numbers. Should you wish to make an offer please contact me. The page edges are slightly aged, browned, the spine is totally uncreased, pages pristine white with clear text. This book is probably one of the rarest fetish erotic books in the world.
Book will be sent By special delivery and signed for once all funds have cleared.
All my details will be sent to you, including phone number, I am a citizen of the UK and will send this book anywhere in the world.
Excerpt from book.
On a dark November night, a weary motorist driving on the long straight Strada del
Sole, the magnificent highway running up the entire west coast of Italy, saw in his
headlights the unusual sight of a tall blonde girl standing by the side of the road.
Unusual, because it was one in the morning and this long lonely road stretched for at
least fifteen kilometres before skirting the next town. Furthermore, she had not even
signalled him to stop.
The driver, an Englishman who represented in Italy a British Publishing House,
slowed rapidly and pulled into the emergency lane at the side. He kept the car in gear,
ready to accelerate if it was a baited trap for an unwary motorist.
But she appeared to be alone and walked slowly towards the car. He noticed she wore
high stiletto-heeled black boots and a long shiny green rubber raincoat, buttoned to the
neck. She opened the passenger door and, with a heavy rustle, subsided onto the seat. As
he drove on, he spoke to her in Italian, but she did not answer. He tried English and then
his limited French, but she remained silent, staring ahead as if in another world.
It was still two hours' drive to Genoa and he had an appointment with a leading
Italian publisher at ten a.m. He was tired and concentrated on his driving.
Suddenly she laughed (so he told me later) and spoke in perfect English, 'What a
gentleman you are! If you had tried to r##e me you would have found I am totally nude
under this rubber coat, except for my leather thigh boots. I suppose it was my Master's
idea of a joke, or perhaps it had a deeper meaning. I can't seem to concentrate, I've been
walking for hours.'
'But why? Have you no money at all; Couldn't you have thumbed a ride? Aren't you
'No,' she said distantly, 'Rubber is warm if you keep moving. I was ordered to keep
walking until midnight. From noon until midnight, without spending any money or talking to
a soul. About an hour ago I reckoned it was after midnight and hitched a lift. He was a
nasty little man with a stupid little mind. Finally, when he realised I wasn't about to
play ball he dropped me at that lonely spot.'
The bewildered representative had been trying to follow the sequence of her story.
'But what are you doing here, in the middle of nowhere, obeying some lunatic orders?'
For the first time the tired blue eyes turned towards him and in the reflected glow
of the headlights he realised she was stunningly beautiful. 'I've been sent back into the
world for three months,' she said simply. 'Shall I tell you some of my story?'
Refreshed by several swigs from a brandy flask he always carried in his briefcase,
she commenced to tell an incredible tale in a low, factual voice. At first he thought she
must be on pot or hallucinating on something stronger, but the details were too coherent
to be a casual fantasy.
They entered Genoa a few minutes before 3 a.m. Still confused by this strange girl,
he drove to the small hotel where he always stayed on his once-a-month goodwill trip from
his base in Rome. It was off-season and there were plenty of vacant rooms. He picked up
his own reservation and the sleepy night porter gave him a tired wink and a key to the
room next to his.
She was so exhausted she sat on his suitcase as the elevator crawled upwards. He
gave her the key to her room, to show there was no funny business. 'I must go out fairly
early. You promise you'll wait till I get back? Before noon.'
Perfect teeth showed in a brief smile. 'I'm in no hurry! But let's make it dinner
instead of lunch, I'm going to sleep for at least twelve hours!'
She kept her word. At seven the following evening she knocked on his door. 'I feel
much better; I've taken a bath and I'm ravenous. Will you take me to dinner?'
She wore the high-buttoned rubber coat like a Dior creation, teetering gracefully on
the high-heeled boots. Although his loose schedule had called for him to drive on to
Torino, his instinct for a story told him he would not be wasting his time by remaining
here an extra night.
This is Gerda's story, related to the Englishman during that long evening and
afterwards 'ghosted' into dramatic form by me. For obvious reasons, Gerda changed some
names and places. J.E.D.
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