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The Hood Life: A Bentley Manor Tale (Bentley Manor Tales) Paperback – Bargain Price, January 6, 2009

4.2 out of 5 stars 59 customer reviews
Book 3 of 3 in the Bentley Manor Tales Series

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About the Author

Meesha Mink is the national bestselling and award-winning author of eleven previous novels. She lives in New Jersey and South Carolina.

De'nesha Diamond is the award-winning, national bestselling author of more than twenty previous novels. She lives in Georgia.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.


Miz Cleo

Summertime is hell in Bentley Manor. The Georgia heat is enough to drive you mad and folks around here start actin' like they's ain't got no sense. I've seen a lot in my seventy-three years and I've experienced pain I wouldn't wish on my worse enemy. But heartache is nothing new in Bentley Manor. In fact, it comes with the territory.

As I sit out here on this stoop with my best friend Osceola Washington by my side, I look around this U-shaped complex marveling how it's getting harder and harder to tell the days apart. I've been living here since June of '69. Lost my husband in '71. After raising four children, one grandchild, I'm now strugglin' to raise my great-grandbaby.

It's hard.

And I'm tired.

Over the years, or rather, over the decades, Atlanta has gone through some changes. Bentley Manor started off as regular apartment complex, but in the late '70s it was the ghetto, in the late '80s the projects. Now, it's the hood.

This place is crawling with the worst of the worst and I've seen my fair share of pimps, dealers, playas, and killers. Too many, in fact.

Some wonder how people survive places like Bentley Manor. To that, I can only shrug my shoulders and ask "what choice do we have?"

The hood life is all we know....

Copyright © 2009 by Niobia Bryant and Adrianne Byrd


The Pimp

Pussy is big business.

And I'm a businessman -- a damn good one. Yeah, I dibble and dabble in a few other things. Who doesn't? If a nigga wants to carve himself a piece of the American pie, he's got to get his hustle on. You feel me? I'm sure you do. Tavon Johnson is the name and pussy is my game.

'Course, on the streets they call me Sweet Diamondtrim Johnson. Diamonds are my trademarks. So much so that each of my girls keeps their pussy shaved and sport diamond tattoos inches above their clits. I want my customers to know they're getting diamond quality.

If you're wondering how I got into this business, I guess you could say I sort of fell into it. I popped my first cherry at twelve. Her name was Renee Collins. I swear to this day that she has the sweetest pussy a nigga ever tasted. And 'course I bragged this shit to my best friend Destin. Bragged so much that he promised to give me his allowance for a full month if I let him have a go at Renee himself.

Being an entrepreneurial nigga even at that age, I took the deal -- only if I was allowed to watch. Hell, Destin's parents gave him five dollars a week, and in '82 you have no idea how many hours of pinball that gave a nigga.

Renee was pissed, but it had been easy to convince her fuckin' Destin was her chance to prove how much she loved me. I gotta tell ya: watching her in action with my best friend was an incredible high. Watching her do a few more boys behind the schoolyard and under the gym bleachers convinced me that I really did love her.

All in all, it was just another reason in a long list of why I married her. For the record, she still has the sweetest pussy I've ever tasted.

So what's your fantasy? I have every kind of ho you can imagine: Black, white, Puerto Rican or Asian. You name it, I got it. You want a streetwalker, a glamorous escort, a porno star, or maybe you're one of those down-low brothers. Don't matter. I got a few dicks on the payroll, too. It's all pussy to me.

Being in the biz for a quarter, I've seen it all. You can whip them, tie them up, and you can even piss on them, if that's your thing. It's all negotiable. But don't get it twisted; pimpin' ain't easy.

From time to time I catch whiff of a few girls talking 'bout how they're going to leave. I laugh at that shit. Where the fuck are they going to go? What are they going to do, shovel fries at McDonald's, convince one of their johns to marry them? C'mon. Once a ho always a ho.

Besides, they're not going to find another nigga that's going to treat them better than I do. Like the Disciple Curtis Mayfield said: "I'm their momma, I'm their daddy, I'm that nigga in the alley."

I'd be lyin' if I said from time to time one doesn't leave the nest...but they come back. They always come back. Bottom line: they love me, they hate me, they love me. I can live with that.

As long as the bitch has my money.

That's the key to my success. While all these ashy Negroes scramble around tryna turn everybody and their momma into crackheads, I'm building an empire off the best commodity there is -- and I do mean the best.

From rap stars to government officials, I keep the juices and the money flowing.

I grew up poor and I ain't never going back. Fuck that shit.

Of course, I don't whine and moan like most. A sad story in Bentley Manor is a dime a dozen. We don't need anyone to tell us that we got the short end of the stick. The question is: How are you going to play the hand you were dealt? Me? I didn't choose pimpin'. Pimpin' chose me. The first girl I had to protect was my own damn momma.

Now, some men have a problem havin' a ho for a momma. Not me. I recognize my momma did what she had to do to put food on the table for five children (all of us with different daddies), and I ain't got nothin' but mad respect for her game. Of course, for a long time, she lied to us and to herself by telling us that the men who marched in and out of our apartment were good friends of the family -- friends who left money on the bedside table after they "wrestled naked in her bed."

Once, my older brother, Kadrian, and I hid under her bed and found out what really went on in that room when she closed the door. And let me tell ya: Momma had skills. Niggas would call out her name like she was Christ Almighty. A lot of them brought her gifts and some even thought to bring us something, too.

For a few years, we were the envy of most our friends: sportin' the new canvas sneaks, rockin' the latest dookey rope chains and carrying the biggest boom boxes imaginable. Then crack hit the streets and Momma got hooked.

First, she tried to maintain, but that didn't last long.

Soon, thugs and drug dealers replaced the niggas with money. Our fly-ass gear disappeared about as fast as the food in the refrigerator. Within three months, Momma was out on the streets, offering to suck dicks just for a hit. Some started beating on her. The strange thing was she acted like she didn't care. All she wanted was to get high.

Well, I cared. And nobody was gonna whup my momma's ass right in front of me or my hood. So me and my brother started looking out for her -- collecting her money, making sure that she got paid.

Hell, we had to eat.

This arrangement pretty much went on through our teen years. But all our protecting couldn't prevent her from coming up HIV positive a couple years ago. That fuckin' sex fiend Junior spread that shit to a lot of girls when he was stayin' up at Bentley Manor. If his wife hadn't capped his ass, I sure the fuck would have.

But live and learn. All my girls get tested on the regular and I screen their johns like the motherfuckin' FBI. What can I say? I have to protect my investment.

My three sisters, Candy, Brandi, and Cherry, followed our mother's footsteps. They call themselves Video Vixens now, but you know, a ho by any other name...

Me, I keep doing what I'm good at: protecting and selling pussy.

My big brother, Kadrian, didn't make it out of his teens. He got caught up in gangbanging and took a couple of bullets to the chest. Not a day goes by when I don't think about him, wishing he was here counting this money with me.

Pimpin' ain't like what you see in the movies. Sure there are some guys who walk around draped in gaudy jewelry, iron-pressed curls, and dress like it's 1972, but those are little boys fulfilling their Superfly fantasies. Pimpin' is a business and I dress like any other CEO of a Fortune 500 company. Ten-thousand-dollar suits from William Fioravanti, Caraceni, and Oxxford, with a little tasteful bling from De Beers and my ass look ready for the cover of GQ every day.

"I'm sorry, sir," Anderson, my driver, says over his shoulder. "Doesn't look like this traffic is gonna let up anytime soon."

I pull my gaze from a So-So Def billboard to meet his eyes in the Bentley's rearview mirror. "Take your time. I'm not in a hurry."

He nods and I return my attention to that ridiculous billboard and continue reflecting over my life -- all thirty-seven years of it.

It wasn't easy, but I finally got my girls off the street corner. Found safer ways for us all to do our jobs. Yeah, I own a couple of private strip clubs, book a couple of booty-shaking dancers for rap stars and keep a hefty amount of city government officials sexed up so good that they stay off my back.

All of this is good money, but it all pales in comparison to what I make off the Red Light District Web site: videos, CD-ROMS, DVD, Video on Demand, and sex toys. Again, name your pleasure and I can hook you up.

After all, I'm a freak, too.

At long last, my nut sack starts tingling. I close my eyes and loll my head back to give the mouth around my cock a little more room.

"That's it. Don't stop," I moan and pump my hips. Out of all my girls, including Renee, no one sucks my dick the way Destiny does. No one. I place my hand on the back of her long flowing weave and bob her head down to a faster rhythm.

Shit. I'm ready to come and I know this trick is gonna swallow my full load and then keep sucking until my toes curl.

"Aw, shit. You nasty motherfucker," I growl as I hold her head down and finally explode into that wonderful mouth.

Like a true sex soldier, Destiny keeps going and I start to inch up the leather upholstery because my shit is suddenly sensitive. Finally, I have to shove her off and try to catch my breath.

Destiny chuckles and reaches for her purse to retrieve her compact and lipstick. "I don't know how Renee is still number one when she can't deep throat like I do."

I tuck my dick back into my pants and stare at her as she fixes her makeup. Well, technically, she is a he and quite possibly the best damn transvestite I've ev...


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Product Details

  • Series: Bentley Manor Tales
  • Paperback: 320 pages
  • Publisher: Touchstone; Original edition (January 6, 2009)
  • Language: English
  • ISBN-10: 1416577092
  • ISBN-13: 978-1416577096
  • ASIN: B003E7ETCG
  • Product Dimensions: 7.8 x 5.2 x 0.8 inches
  • Shipping Weight: 7.2 ounces
  • Average Customer Review: 4.2 out of 5 stars  See all reviews (59 customer reviews)
  • Amazon Best Sellers Rank: #4,985,279 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)

Customer Reviews

Top Customer Reviews

Format: Paperback
Move over ladies of Bentley Manor, the men of Bentley Manor are out to tell their story and it is HOT! Spinning a tale of sex, drugs and drama, Meesha and De'Nesha skillfully lure you into the lives of four men with roots in Bentley Manor. Although this book follows behind the highly acclaimed Desperate Hoodwives and Shameless Hoodwives, The Hood Life as it does not read like a sequel.

Tavon, The Pimp, has made pimping a family business. Taking it to another level as his extravagant lifestyle remains a blend of his business and personal life. His balance is thrown for a tailspin with the unexpected arrival of a bundle of joy...a teen-aged bundle of joy. This leaves Tavon wondering, how does a pimp raise a teenage daughter?

Demarcus, The Killer, fresh from his stint in prison, is out to prove that he is a changed man. Determined to live right, Demarcus starts his day with prayer and hits the streets preaching to others from his Quran. Yet he still struggles to release the demons from his past life. Not able to find a job and tired of feeling like less than a man, the lure of fast, money is around every corner. Will a chance for one quick move to escape The Hood Life be stronger than the will to live a new life?

Kaseem, The Dealer, is fighting a battle of his own. Not your normal dealer, Kaseem finds himself challenged by those around him who want him to come hard. With the unexpected arrival of an infant son, and a baby momma strung out on crack, irony has come knocking on Kaseem's door. Will he leave the game before the game consumes him.

Rhakmon, The Playa, is a character in himself. Getting what he can from women is the name of his game. No woman is safe from his hustling, including his current girlfriend.
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Move over ladies of Bentley Manor! The men have definitely taken over in The Hood Life by Meesah Mink and De'Nesha Diamond.

Tavon (the Pimp) was born to pimp if you let him tell it. As a child, he had to get up close and personal with the oldest profession in the book for survival. How else could he make sure his prostitute mother fed them when she got strung out on crack? So his career choice was a no-brainer, but when he is faced with being a father to a teenage girl, can his mind really stay on his Benjamins? Or will he be forced to retire his pimp cane and raise his little woman the right way?

Demarcus (the Killer) was a changed man when he was released from prison. He had his ride-or-die chick by his side and decided he would do right by her. But what happens when a convicted felon is faced with very few job options? How can he provide for his woman without swallowing his pride? With very few places to turn, the streets call for him. Will he answer? Or will he be able to overcome the temptation to engage in the behaviors that got him is first ten-year bid?

Kaseem (the Dealer) is not the average drug dealer. He lived a privileged life and never wanted for a thing. He is also the type of brother who does not believe violence has to be a part of the drug game, so he discourages violent acts from his crew. When tempers mount, Kaseem finds himself being drawn to the idea of leaving the fast life. And this urge to leave only worsens when he finds out he is the father of an infant son. Will he successfully leave? Or will he become another casualty of the game; making his son another statistic?

Rhakmon (the Playa) has a wicked sex game. So much so, he loves nothing more than using what he has to get what he needs.
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Well-written and a decent read, but the characters are disappointed and very unlikable. The Playa and Killer's are good and worth reading. The Pimp's story was thrown together. The Dealer was just a dumb character.
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I read the Hood Life and I must say it didn't disappoint at all I truly enjoyed the characters and I would really enjoy a sequel I would like to confirm what happen to Sweet,and everyone else I truly enjoyed the series and I'm very motivated in reading more drama at Bentley Manor
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Meesha and De'Nesha are back with a pimp, a playa, a killer, and a drug dealer...all major components in the hood, the ghetto, the projects, whichever is your description of choice. They introduce Tavon 'Sweet' Johnson, the infamous pimp that works his moneymakers on poles as well as private parties. He invests his income into lucrative sexually-based businesses. Sex is his business and his business is to sexually pleasure all who seek him and his Diamond trim out for their freakiest fantasies. Then we have the equally wealthy and business savvy Kaseem, who assumed the HNIC title when Maleek, the hoods' predecessor caught a bid and had to vacate the throne. Kaseem luxuriates in the perks with the job, but there's a longing for something other than this lifestyle. An unexpected package shows up with his ex-girl that broke his heart, but it only intensifies his determination to try a different path in life. But will the love of his life, Quilla, be willing to ride or die?

DeMarcus is an ex-gang banger finds forgiveness in Allah and is released from the prison system after 10 years of incarceration. His girlfriend Zoey's allegiance is empowering and reaffirms his commitment to remain legit. Being an ex-convict constantly assassinates any job opportunities for DeMarcus, and it destroys Zoey's career. He also battles a corrupt parole officer and the call of the old life. Rhakmon, the ladies man, hustles fake designer bags, sexes as many women as he can, and takes their money while getting inside their heads for his profit. This is his 'one' game plan. A night of frightening sexual egotism has placed Rhakmon in an awful position which he masterfully turns the table on his latest victim, Shaterica.
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