I hang with any number of transexuals at least once a week, usually at the jazz gig. They come from all walks: NASA scientist, psychiatrist, MD's, artists - from brilliant to dumb as a box of hammers (usually, though, on the brilliant end of the scale). They're often in the middle of some phase of the transformation surgically, hormonally, psychologically. Some are fuckin' knock-out good-lookin', some make ol' Suze above look like centerfold material. Relationally, normally monogamous, they are both hetero and homosexual.
The toughest telltale for them to deal with is their big hands; isn't much to be done with those big mitts no matter how much lotion and fingernail polish they apply.
One jazz night, a few weeks ago, there were quite a few folks out on the dance floor. The sax-player said how it was "good to see women who were born with a vagina out on the dance floor, for a change". His remark spawned the term "indigenous vagina".
The trannies fill our tip jar more generously than anyone.