For better, for worse, for us.

Suddenly it was decided: My eight closest friends in the universe--four lesbian couples with whom I've spent birthdays, baby namings, holidays, and, in the case of Torie Osborn, eight happy years a decade or so ago--were going to San Francisco to get married. And since California state legislators are empowered to perform marriages, they asked me to officiate. How very lesbian for an ex-partner to be officiating for Torie and her partner, Lydia Vaias, both of whom seemed quite happy with the idea. We would have been 10, plus me, but a few months before, Mary Newcombe had lost her sweet, brilliant, grounded partner, Jodi Curlee, so there was a bitter-sweet aura to the whole thing.

That wasn't the only bittersweet touch: Over the years so many of us had so firmly banished marriage from our minds that we had come to believe it was not a necessary addition to our commitments. This, even though these four couples had been together a total of 70-plus years--with grown children from past marriages, adopted children, children they had given birth to in the relationship, and history history history. Until San Francisco, however, marriage just wasn't in their plans.

All eight women are activists, and certainly the civil-disobedience aspect of our actions was delicious. Giving and taking public vows on the steps of City Hall seemed a good way to declare our continuing fight for equality. And when I told my friend and colleague, scare assemblywoman Jackie Goldberg, what we were planning, she and her partner of almost 30 years, Sharon Stricker, asked if I might marry them as well. Two men my friends have. known and loved for years, Avi Rose and Ron Strochlic, also asked in. So we were 13!

Jackie and Sharon, Torie and Lyd, Jehan Agrama and Dwora Fried, Patti Giggans and Ellen Ledley, Barrie Levy and Linda Garnets, children and friends, and Patti's sensei--to give rite Buddhist blessing--filled nearly half a plane from Los Angeles. At City Hall, County Assessor Mabel Teng--an enthusiastic, supportive public servant who herself performed the city's first same-sex marriage, between Phyllis Lyon and Del Martin--led us through the paperwork. Then I led each couple, two by two, through their vows while the press circled and snapped. Two by two they spoke promises to each other, took flowers from their children, were blessed by a sensei, exchanged rings, and, repeating after me, promised, individually, to take the other as their lawfully wedded spouse. Assemblyman Mark Leno, who represents the area, added a Hebrew blessing.

We were all deeply moved. We wept. We didn't want it to end. Perhaps most unexpected of all, we were profoundly changed.

For most of our adult lives we have been part of a community that couldn't even dream of full equality. Oh, we have fought for it, insisted on it in the workplace, in schools, in housing--one piece at a time. But that afternoon on the steps of City Hall--and later, when the couples came home to balloons in their yards, flowers in their homes, celebrations at work, presents, notes, and endless congratulatory e-mails--we saw how marriage allows society to recognize our equality. People know what to do when you get married. They rejoice. They congratulate. They buy presents.

For the couples, and for me, it was like a dam opened. That place where all of us had buried any hope of marriage, where we had dutifully registered as domestic partners and convinced ourselves marriage wasn't worth having, that place cracked open to the sun. It was a revelation.

Perhaps in order just to survive and go on without caving in to terminal disappointment, we had simply stopped agonizing over our inability to marry. We told ourselves we didn't need that kind of equality, that it was something we shouldn't emulate.

It's a great defense mechanism, not wanting what you can't have. Maybe it's even healthy. But now, with the taste of it still on our lips, with courts shaking off years of slumber about our rights, it's time to wake up ourselves. We deserve this. As Torie opined, seeing the rose petals showering the happy couples after the ceremonies: We've had bread, now give us roses.

Kuehl is a California state senator.